


Fool's Gold

by leoandlancer



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Monster Hunters, Dragon!Hanzo, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn, They don't get off on the best foot, but it's a work in progress, monster hunter!McCree
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-01-05 12:08:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 88,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12189714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leoandlancer/pseuds/leoandlancer
Summary: Jesse McCree's taken out a lot of monsters in his days.  Vampires.  Werewolves.  Beasts without names. There's good money in the hunting business. Dragons, though, that's a new one. Paying a pretty penny for it, too.Should have known it was going to be a bigger job than it seemed.





	1. The Good Morning of a Gunslinger

**Author's Note:**

> Edit: About half an hour after posting this, Windlion came up with a way better title and pitched it to me along with a way better summary and I am BLESSED to know them.

Six thousand gold folly was enough to buy a man a lot of distance.

The idea of six thousand gold folly was a comfortable one. Six thousand little squares of gold with the king's stamp on them put a important, comfortably weighty feeling in a man's chest when you thought of carrying it.

It was enough to get off this continent. It was more than enough to get him home and make things right.

McCree thought of that. He thought of it again and again as he paced back and forth on the ridge of the hill, looking down into the valley. He thought of scooping gold coins out of a wood and iron chest with both hands, thought of soft, leather pouches of gold that would be wonderfully heavy in his hand, thought of the softness of gold between his teeth. He thought of buying passage on a ship home.

He'd been thinking those thoughts since the earl had laid the offer before him. He'd been thinking of the reward, and of the advance he'd been given, more than the task at hand.

Which wasn't surprising. The task seemed ridiculous to him when he'd heard it.

He should have asked more questions. He should have demanded an explanation. He should have leveraged a bigger damn reward. He should have known he'd make a mistake like this eventually.  

McCree stopped his restless pacing and stood in the middle of the road for a few minutes, staring down the hill into the bowl of land around the lake. Farms left abandoned and fields left fallow, shaggy forests and a river winding over the good flat land to the lake. McCree could see a wide, handsome bridge over the river from where he stood on the hilltop looking down.

It was beautiful, if you liked your landscape overgrown and empty. No birds sang in the trees. No one had lived here for a few weeks now.

McCree pulled his hat off, shoved his hair away from his face and looked again at six thousand gold worth of work.

There was a dragon down there on the bridge.

It was huge, a long, blue-scaled serpent of a creature that  coiled neatly over the span of the bridge: its head resting on a coil of its huge body, its yellow mane lifting in the slight breeze. It had been there for weeks, according to the farmers that had fled the area.

"Well, don't that beat all," McCree murmured.

It seemed to be sleeping, immobile in the sunshine, and McCree had a vision of basking snakes back home. He set his hand on Peacekeeper at his hip, and thought of the weight of a single bullet against one of those shining scales. He shook his head.

Six thousand gold. Enough to live without working for five or six years of comfortable living while he searched. Enough to see his way home, buy himself out of some trouble, enough to turn some heads away. Enough to stop hunting for a while. Enough to buy any shred information he could track down.

Behind him, the track wound back to the King's Road, and then a day's walk towards the working farms, the markets, and the edge of the canals. It would be days of travel just to go back to the city. The dragon was a ten minute walk down a smooth empty road.

McCree jammed the hat back, shook his head and stared at his dusty boot-tops as he forced his feet onwards. Six thousand gold was a fortune. It was enough to go home. It was enough to keep searching.

He was closer the next time he looked up, able to see that the dragon was thicker than a draught horse, its head almost as long as McCree was tall. Close enough to see its horns, the long crest of fur that ran down its back, the claws on its delicate arms shining in the sun. It was beautiful, and McCree tried and failed to think of how he could match this thing in combat. He'd fought werewolves and killed monsters, tracked vampires and brought down giants, but not like this.

Giants and vampires were mostly human after all; werewolves and most monsters held some degree of humanity or at least a bestial nature that could be understood. McCree had never met a dragon. Looking at it here and now, he understood something on a bone-deep level: he had never seen anything like this before. It was a monster in the real sense.

When his boots hit the broad wooden planks of the bridge, he stopped, tugged his coat a little straighter, held his hat in hand and shoved his hair away from his face again.  His heart was starting to beat hard and fast, his breath felt light. His body knew damn well what death looked like even if it was sleeping. Fine details began to spring out at him: the dragon's golden whiskers twitched in its sleep, its blue scales were edged in gold, the fur on the tip of the dragon's muzzle was very fine.

McCree had spent the last few days searching for this monster. He was fifteen feet away from it now, close enough he could see the scratch marks on the wooden bridge from its claws, close enough he could smell it. McCree pushed his hat back on, took a step forward, and thought of home. Thirteen feet, the dragon's nose was wider than his hand span at the tip, and looked velvety soft. Nine feet, McCree put his hand on Peacekeepers stock and his fingers wrapped around it and into place as automatically as breathing. Six feet, the dragon's breath was on his face now, that huge head resting on a coil of itself like a sleeping snake. Like a rattler, McCree thought, pulling Peacekeeper from its holster and thinking of six thousand gold pieces.

McCree was three feet away from the largest monster he'd ever seen when he brought Peacekeeper up to bear, and nearly had the tip of its muzzle to the dragon's face.

Three feet away and holding half the weight of the trigger on his first finger and squeezing for more when the dragon opened it’s eyes.

McCree froze.

Golden eyes, bright and intelligent, looking down calmly at him like he'd been expected.

Not sleeping. McCree couldn't feel his heart beating, couldn't draw breath. The dragon had let McCree get this close, had been waiting for him.

Half the weight of a trigger against his finger. McCree thought of going home.

He fired.

The bullet saw less than an inch of daylight before it hit the dragon between the eyes.

The noise of the shot was a comfort.The familiar sound of Peacekeeper speaking in the silent valley suddenly jerked McCree out of his worry and planning and details. He was a monster hunter, and here was a monster. He breathed again.

The dragon's head jerked back, smoke and bright flakes of scale trailing from its face, and it roared as it reared up and away. Shattered scales and blood hit the wood of the bridge in a rattle.

Open mouth, moving target. McCree looked up at horrifically long white teeth and aimed to fire twice into the dragon's wide mouth. The immense curve of the dragon's flank was taut with muscle and some shift in its bulk, some unfamiliar tension made McCree jump back before the long body lashed out towards him. The weight of the monster, heavy with the density of muscle, slammed into McCree.

It was a horrifyingly heavy hit, harder than McCree could have expected, and it threw him halfway back to shore. He landed badly on the rough wood of the bridge and fought for breath as he tried to stand. The blow had given him some distance, and McCree stared up as the dragon thrashed above him. Bright scales clattered down, shining around him.

He'd have whistled if he had the air for it. Coiled up into itself, it had been huge in a way that McCree could almost understand, a size and weight that could be compared to animals, to things McCree had seen before. Like this, rising up with coil over heavy coil of sliding blue scales and golden fur, the length of it spread up and out over the bridge. It cast a shadow that covered McCree entirely, snapping jaws wide enough to sleep in.

Abruptly, McCree felt like a jackrabbit. He froze like one, unsure of what he was looking at and positive he was about to die if he didn’t predict this thing’s next move. McCree hissed through his teeth, he had never seen anything like this monster, he had no idea how to anticipate its movements and actions.

Apparently, it could float. That was a new one for McCree.

He caught himself gawping, blinked and forced himself to focus. Fine, pale scales on its underbelly, moving fast as the coils wound over and under each other as the dragon shook its bloody head and snapped at nothing.

While the dragon was still rising, McCree had time to drag himself to his feet. He held one arm over his chest and wondered dismally how many ribs he’d broken. Even before he was standing straight, Peacekeeper was already leveled at the twisting monster when he fired twice more. This time, he aimed at the pale underbelly, directly for the natural creases between the bands of smaller scales.

The retaliation came so fast McCree didn't have time to take a breath, didn’t see it coming, didn't even realize his mistake. He had tried to focus on the scales, on shooting where it would do the most damage and he'd taken his eyes off the monster's head. The dragon struck down faster than a snake, jaws open wide, red teeth trailing blood.

McCree screamed as the dragon's jaws snapped shut around him. Long fangs drove in under his ribs, over his shoulder, his right arm shocked with the heat inside the monster's mouth. He shuddered; his mind wiped out everything but horror and dread and indignation at the sheer impossibility of what had just happened. The dragon was going to bite him in two. McCree tried to yank the lower jaw open with his left hand. It felt like trying to pull on an anvil. He was going to die here.

Hot, bloody pressure washed over McCree as the dragon breathed out through his teeth, over his chest. Its snarling muzzle was just beside McCree's neck; he could have leant his head against it, if he'd wanted to.

Red eyes, McCree noticed blankly, staring up into the monster's contorted face. Funny thing, he’d thought they were gold.

Five shots already gone, just the sixth left. Inside the dragon's mouth.

The dragon’s jaws began closing, clenching down and forcing the last gasp of air from his chest, and McCree fired.

For an instant, McCree saw the dragon's red eyes flash wide. Then the thump and excruciating pressure of the blast of the shot contained in the dragon's mouth rebounded back into his hand and the heat scorched against his knuckles and up his arm.

The dragon's body tensed, the scales jerking up at odd angles, its smooth body suddenly bristling and its fur puffed into spikes. Then the long teeth tore out of McCree’s body as the dragon’s mouth opened wide. McCree reeled, white and brittle with pain and shock and was knocked down as the dragon thrashed back. It was wild, clumsy and heavy as it shook it’s head with it’s mouth open and fell over itself as it scrabbled away. It’s open mouth trailed blood and smoke while it's delicate front claws raked at the air.

McCree hit the rail and couldn’t catch himself before he slid sideways and down to the bridge. He tried to force himself back up but this time, he felt the weight in his shoulder and side that meant major damage. He heard a small, involuntary sound escape from between his teeth. Six shots, and this thing was just waking up.

His hands were moving even though McCree didn’t think he could. It was all instinct, old blood memory that propped him up on one knee, the other against his chest to support his right side.

The movements to reload Peacekeeper were easy after all these years, he could reload his gun in the dark, falling out of the sky, underwater. Snap the cylinder open, let the empty cartridges fall, his left hand already moving to slot a reload into place.McCree felt each of these pieces in sequence like a heartbeat. The flick to roll the cylinder home into Peacekeeper sent a frisson up his arm.

When he dragged his next breath in and out he felt blood bubbling at the back of his throat, and he coughed and spit as he brought Peacekeeper back up to take aim. His arm shook, cracked shoulder blade grating on the inside of his skin as he tried to steady himself. He'd already lost a lot of blood, and that his entire world had gone dark at the edges.

Home, McCree thought, bracing himself just as the dragon folded down low to face him, front talons digging into the rail of the bridge, bristling with its scales raised and blood dropping in gouts from between its teeth. Home.

McCree fired. The trigger was heavy against his finger, and his aim was off. For the first time since he’d been a child, the recoil caught him by surprise and kicked pain all the way up to his broken ribs. The bullet hit the dragon’s flank and glanced off, sending a shower of blue scales and dark blood to the bridge.

The dragon roared, barely pulling its head away, and then it moved, gathering itself low and lunging forward, charging McCree over the flat open length of the bridge.

Trigger had never felt so heavy. He’d fired seven shots now and it wasn't enough. Eight shots, nine, more scales and blood, and the tenth went wide as the dragon slammed into him. This time he didn't have any breath left to cry out with. The dragon's front claws grabbed him, breaking through leather, armor, cotton to the skin of his arm. Then through the skin, digging in viciously to hold him and drive him down. Light was catching off the dragon scales as they fell around them in a cloud like broken glass.

McCree blinked stupidly. For a moment, the world had gone hazy bright and ink black at the edges. The darkness didn’t clear, but after a moment, he could focus. He had landed flat on his back, head turned, staring down the length of his right arm to where Peacekeeper lay like a dead thing in his hand with two bullets still in the cylinder. The dragon’s claws were bright points of pain in his arms, the weight of its body driving him down against the bridge to pin him. Not like he could move even if it wasn’t.

A heavy gout of blood splashed on his cheek, over his beard, and neck. McCree turned his head with an effort and found the dragon staring straight down at him.

"Well don't that beat all," McCree whispered again. He’d thought about his death often enough that this didn't come as a surprise to him. He was a betting man, and he would have bet at any odds he was going to die fighting.

The dragon… No. He wouldn't have bet on a dragon.

The dragon just bared its teeth over him and snarled. Red teeth, red eyes, blood running down from the scorched, ragged looking hole between its eyes. The blood had trickled around the scales, so that each one was edged in scarlet instead of gold.

His vision contracted, the darkness rising over him. The dragon was all he could see, the last thing he’d see and McCree suddenly wished he hadn't come here. Dying was something that happened to everyone and McCree had wanted so desperately to get home he’d lost his caution, his common sense. Picking a fight with a dragon, this was no less than he deserved. But…

Making such a godawful mess of something beautiful though, that only happened by decision. He suddenly felt regret as he studied the dragon’s face, he wished he could have fought clean or not at all. With the scorch marks from bullet wounds and the blood on the monster's teeth and between its rucked up scales and matting in its golden fur, McCree felt less like a hunter and more like a vandal.

There was a low, growling rumble that almost sounded like words.

McCree tipped his head back a little, already looking forward to watching his life flash before his eyes, at least the early bits. He hoped he'd die before the pain started. Because the pain was certainly right there, the reality of a broken body was just under the shock and dread and regret.

"Didn't catch that," McCree murmured, as if the dragon could understand him. "Sorry, guess it's hard to talk with three bullets in your mouth."

"More than I would care to admit," the dragon carefully enunciated every word as it snarled down into McCree's face. "So listen carefully."

McCree blinked. Red eyes stared back into him with steady fury and bright intelligence.

"Not now no, thanks just the same," McCree’s vision was dark at the edges and he was going to have to reckon with what he’d done all his life. He hoped he was going to die before he was forced to remember riding out with fourteen people he loved and riding back alone.

Twenty goddamn years ago and he still fought that mistake, still made every morning a battle to force his feet to the floor.

"Listen to me," the dragon hissed. Its voice was deep, rough, and there was blood in it's mouth, sticking between it’s tongue and the roof of it’s mouth as it spoke.

"Make a habit of talking to dead men? That ain't right." McCree opened his eyes out of force of habit. He wasn't sure when he'd closed them. Anyway, a dragon wasn't bad for last thing to see. Even if it did hate you.

His side was heavy and cold, wet in a way that didn't feel right. His own clothes felt heavy on him. The pain was hollowing out the inside of his mind, dark red, hungry and wild. Even as he spoke, he felt himself loose the last of his breath, his broken ribs too weak to let in a gasp.

"You're not dead yet. You don't have to die here."

"What's the alternative?" The question was almost too quiet to hear, and it almost made McCree laugh. Pain was the alternative. He wasn't sure if his eyes were open or not anymore. The edges of the world had gone from dark to black and red. His body felt cold and unwieldy somehow, like he didn't fit in it anymore, like it was already cooling meat unsuitable for him.

"Make a deal with me," the dragon hissed over him, warm breath stinking of blood washing over McCree's face.

The dragon had smelled like rain before McCree had shot it between the eyes, fresh fallen rain and something flowery. It smelled like smoke and burnt black powder now; the bridge reeked of blood.

"Sorry about that," McCree whispered. Thought he whispered. Hoped he had, hoped the dragon could understand him. “Sorry I didn’t just… Ask.”

He thought he heard it snarl.

McCree suddenly felt weightless. There were bright points of pain where the dragon's claws held his arm and side, but the roughness of the bridge was suddenly gone from beneath him. The air was cool and McCree wondered if heaven really would take someone like him. Over the course of his life, he'd thought of his inevitable interview with Saint Peter. All of those imagined conversations came down to McCree shrugging and smiling and lying when he said could explain.

Then a gust of wind brushed up through his hair and for an instant he felt cheated. Wherever McCree went after he died, he had hoped he'd been able to take his hat before he left.

Then he was falling, not just dropping but being dragged down faster than he could fall, hurtling downwards and it was almost funny, certainly predictable.

Of course heaven had no place for a vandal like him.

Something as shocking and cold as a sheet of ice seemed to break all around him, and McCree's world cracked and blacked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I will aim to have the next chapter out on or around Oct. 9, but since that's Canada's Thanksgiving weekend(!!) it may be delayed for pumpkin pie reasons! This fic is in still progress but I have the next few chapters written and the rest planned and I will do my best to keep to a regular biweekly updating schedule.  
> Beta read by the patient Windlion who helped me figure this story out when it was still a tiny folk tale retelling! Also thank you to Daishar who said this one was a keeper. （´ω｀♡%）  
> I have a [Tumblr](http://leoandlancer.tumblr.com)! Please come by and say hi if you have a mind to =D


	2. Some Sort of Partnership

He dreamt about money for nothing.

It wasn't really nothing, but it was so unlike his idea of 'work' that it was basically 'play'. Money for play. That was an easy concept.

He dreamt of the train that ran at most once a week through the stretch of baked red rock he called home. It would run only when it had enough people or cargo to make it worth the risk of crossing between sheriffs and law men, which wasn’t all that often. It only ran on Saturday mornings, when it ran at all, and only when it was more than half full, and it was always well guarded.

Contrary to popular belief, a horse can outpace a train. It requires the horse to run in a straight line when the train curves, and it requires the rider to know where to find water, how much food to bring, and how to pace themselves. It was easy therefore, for one smart rider on one good horse to make the trip from Flower Station to Deadlock Gorge in plenty of time to profit from some unusual news.

A nearly empty train was carrying something valuable enough to pay for the whole journey on a Tuesday night. An overnight run out of Flower Station, over Deadlock Gorge, and a sudden overnight run meant it would not be guarded well enough.

Jesse McCree was watching when his best friend rode in from Flower Station and dropped off her horse's back and kept running to gasp out the news. He was there when the other members of Deadlock gathered around, listened and called their horses and began donning their equipment and riding coats. The homestead was suddenly bursting with busy people where it had been a landscape of dozing young robbers a moment before.

Jesse McCree was seventeen years old when he pulled his neckerchief over his nose and mouth to keep the dust down and climbed up onto his horse with his family busy all around him.

There wasn’t much discussion. They all knew what to do, and they all wanted to start now.

Fifteen riders on fifteen half-wild horses rode hard out of the gorge as the sun set.

McCree was grinning wide and wild and genuine for the last time in his life.  

 

* * *

 

He could hear music, and heard someone singing, lively and low and unlike anything he'd heard before. He thought he remembered the snarl and growl of the dragon. He remembered of the small, useless details that had dogged him as he'd died on the bridge; the velvety soft look of the dragon's nose and muzzle, the brightness of it's mane and whiskers, the long ears covered with delicate tufts of gold fur, the thick muscle under it's scales. It had moved so fast, so gracefully. The monster was so powerful and so impossibly enormous, rising up weightless as it's coils widened and spread over McCree before looking down at him.

Red eyes, glaring pure hatred down at him over that soft, snarling muzzle.

Wish I hadn’t, McCree thought sadly, that was a real shame. Some sinkhole of unfamiliar self pity yawned open inside him, cold and stark against the bleak pragmatism of his life. Wish I hadn’t made an enemy of a creature like that, McCree thought.

McCree shied away from the thought. He already carried one shame, one regret like a snail carries its shell. He had cherished it like a child clinging to a best beloved toy for twenty years. He couldn't carry any other.

The singing he had only barely been listening to trailed away to an ending, and McCree felt mildly put out, annoyed at the pause, and heard someone yawn.

There was a murmur of voices and a long, heavy sigh that ruffled the hair on McCree's forehead. It smelt like flowers and rain and burnt black powder. His side hurt, his shoulder hurt.

"Wake him," a low voice, sounded like the dragon and that was odd enough. "Ōmukade will be here soon. He needs to see it."

"Can't rush this," another voice, briskly unaffected by the low thunder of a dragon talking. "You think I can work faster? I’m a delicate little music man doing all I can. He's healing. Give it time."

"No," McCree shuddered, small trivial things he'd been able to ignore suddenly presented themselves to him for his attention. The itch of new scar tissue, the weak, rapid beat of his heart in his neck, the ache in his head and his right hand. His lashes were slightly matted together and McCree found there was a blurry world outside himself, a world that included pain and consequence. " _No_ ," he snarled again. Blindly, childishly, he pushed his head back and away with his eyes closed and his teeth clenched. He wanted to go home.

"Oh, there. I woke him up for you. You're welcome."

The voice sounded surprised, but not displeased and the music changed slightly, a faster beat that made his heart skip a beat then begin to race. McCree shrank away from that too. He felt cheated. His right hand felt doughy and hot with bruises. His shoulder ached and his side ached and there were steady, regular pains all over his body.

He had a sudden memory of the dragon's huge, bloody red mouth wide open above him, it's head cocked, moving faster than a striking snake. He shuddered and felt sick.

"Hey, take it easy, you'll be ok," said the pleasant sounding liar. A hand settled on McCree's chest, and he felt a heavy warmth pulled away from him.

The coolness of the air suddenly jolted him, and without meaning to, his eyes opened and he looked up a dark, smoke stained ceiling. There was a boy leaning over him, dark skinned and focused, long dreadlocks pulled back and the ends trailing over his shoulders. There was something moving in his periphery, something huge in a tight space. Then there was a whirl of wind over McCree's face, the smell of smoke, then it was gone.

"I got you patched up but you're still mostly dead," said the refreshingly unsympathetic young man. He didn't sound unkind, and he was probably being honest.

McCree liked him immediately.

"Hanzo wants a word, and we need to show you something. I guess you passed out before he could make his deal with you," the young man went on.

"How rude of me," McCree managed, his mouth was dry and his throat felt scaly. He'd spent most of his life looking for his next drink but at this moment he'd have cut his last hand off for one. "What's wants a word?" The words came out rough, and even as he spoke, McCree knew what, _who_ Hanzo must be.

Fear, unexpected and unfamiliar, twisted suddenly cold in his gut.

The young man just grinned at him, then sat back. "You were damn near dead when Hanzo brought me to you. And from what he tells me, you walked up to him and shot him in the face." Lucio reached out and flicked McCree hard in the forehead, between the eyes. "That true?”

McCree winced. It sounded worse aloud. “Sure is.”

“That’s great news,” the young man said through a grin that looked unnervingly pleased. “Well, it's up to you whether or not you're worth the not insubstantial trouble he took to save you after you tried to kill him. Can you sit up?"

McCree rubbed his forehead with his right hand, scowling. He could sit up as it turned out, though not without pain, and not without cursing, and not without the young man dragging him upright and rewarding him with a cup of water. Once he was propped up with his back to the wall and his leg trailing off the narrow little cot, McCree shuddered and choked down the anxious fear that came from deep-down pain. He held the cup of water until his hands stopped shaking.

"Much obliged," McCree said after downing the water in one go and coming up for air feeling suddenly like life might be worthwhile after all. "Name's McCree."

"Lucio," the young man took the cup and refilled it from a bucket and passed it back with perfect equanimity. He ferried water to McCree a few more times without speaking, humming under his breath. There was music around him, but McCree couldn't see its source. There was an odd, pale green light under the the young man’s feet and inside his left hand.

"So how..." McCree rubbed his right shoulder tentatively with one hand. He could feel wounds, weeks into healing. He wasn't sure how much time had passed but his beard didn't feel any longer. "How did I not die?"

"Hanzo dumped you here and got me," Lucio replied with amiable bluntness. "I healed you."

"How's that then?" McCree was still wearing his old familiar rough spun shirt and heavy travelling pants. They were bloody and dirty and McCree couldn't help but look through the torn hem of his shirt to see his side. He didn't feel the pressure of bandages.

Lucio said something but McCree missed it. He was stuck staring in horror at the furious, red, delicate looking new scars. No bandages, just the marks where the dragon had sunk his teeth in and almost bitten McCree in half. He felt light headed and swayed where he sat. He'd been hurt before, badly at times, but he'd never felt like this upon seeing his other scars. McCree had never seen a wound like this on anything but a corpse.

"You need another minute?"

"What?" McCree couldn't look away. He could see where each tooth had cut through his skin. The teeth had been so sharp, had driven in so easily... How deeply had they cut into him? How much deeper would they have gone?

Straight through. The answer came at once, practical and perfectly true, making him lightheaded. Those teeth might have had a moment of hesitation meeting bone, but only a moment.

"I said you need another minute? I'm going to get him if you think you can talk now."

"What? No, now hang..." McCree looked from his side up to Lucio and back again. "Missed that, how did you...?"

Lucio huffed, but he was smiling, maybe a little proudly. "Music, my music. Long as you're close enough, long as you can hear me I can heal you up. One of my many talents."

Magic. Something in McCree's mental clockwork ticked around to the answer even as Lucio spoke. Long honed senses sharpened to a cutting edge.

Magic could only be practiced by monsters.

McCree became aware of his breath, the space around them, sizing up this amiable creature for a fight. Small build, muscular and slim, probably fast, likely stronger than most suspected. There was a fifty gold folly bounty posted for any magic user brought alive to a Opinicon. Enough for McCree to live decently for three months or more, he knew from experience. Enough to buy a lot of information.

Then the pain in his shoulder and his hip brought him up into the reality of his situation. McCree stopped his train of thought before it hit some irreparable end to this line of reasoning. He scowled briefly into his cup.

"Not got a problem with that do you?" The young man suddenly sounded saccharine behind his smile. He was watching McCree with steady, unblinking dark eyes. His teeth showed when he spoke again, "Well hunter? Anything to say?"

McCree didn’t look at it, but put his right hand against the largest of the new scars on his side. The scar was larger than his palm, and very warm. He could feel his pulse in his neck as he looked back at Lucio without really seeing him.

"Nope," McCree said. He was a sensible man without many convictions and he had survived a long time on decisions like this one. "With you? No problem. Not a damn thing."

"Glad to hear it," Lucio blinked at him, and smiled as he sat back.

McCree wasn't sure why he'd found him threatening a second before, but the change to the gently wary and smiling man who sat beside him was a welcome one. He swallowed and drank more water and looked around.

"Now, where are we?"

A cabin was the immediate answer, with a fire pit in the centre of the bare earth floor and a iron grate across it. Cots and bunks were stacked and shoved against the walls, and some trunks and packs were in a jumbled heap under one dark window. There was no fire, just smouldering embers with pale smoke rising straight up to an open cupola in the roof. There was only the one window, and a double door large enough to run a cart and horse through.

"Trapper's lodge in the mountain," Lucio said.

The tone in his voice, the way he said that made McCree lose interest in his surroundings, his new scars and the imminent threat of sitting within swinging distance of a monster that looked like an honest young man. There is a tone universal to all people that is only used when the speaker isn't looking forward to their own honesty. Lucio was using that tone now.

Lucio was watching him. "We're not in the same world you were born in," he said.

This time, he spoke with the same unsympathetic candor in the same kind voice. Honesty was a terrible thing sometimes and McCree felt his gut go cold. Fear was unfamiliar to him after twenty years and he wasn't relishing it's return.

"You don't say."

"Hmm," Lucio nodded, and pulled a few of his dreads over one shoulder, absently rubbing one back and forth between his fingers and thumb until he'd rolled it out of his grip. "This is the place where dragons come from," he went on, watching McCree. "It’s where most monster's come from."

"Let me just," McCree pushed a hand over his face. He'd gone cold, but the sheer absurdity made him smile into the privacy of his palm. "You brought a monster hunter into a world of monsters?"

"Hanzo did, yeah." Lucio was watching him with a smile when McCree pulled his hand away. "I did try and point out the irony."

"You come from here?" McCree had hunted and captured a lot of creatures that could use magic, or were twisted by it. Sometimes they looked human and sometimes they didn't.

Lucio shook his head, "I'm from where you come from. Just not... Not," Again, that tone.

McCree cocked an eyebrow at Lucio.

"I'm not from the same time as you,” Lucio said with some measure of apology.

McCree and Lucio looked at each other for a few moments. McCree was trying to frame a question around a new and horrible concept he didn't want to know about, and Lucio seemed to be braced for a question he didn't want to try and answer.

"Alright." McCree said at length. Ignorance was a comfortable shield at times like this and it hadn't failed him yet. "Alright. So I guess I better hear about why I was brought."

Lucio nodded, looking relieved, "I'll see if he went far."

A thought struck McCree and the question left him like a flight response. "Where's my gun?"

The instant he spoke he wished he hadn't. Lucio turned and looked at him with a nearly belligerent deadpan. He was an extremely eloquent young man even when he didn't speak.

"Right," McCree nodded stupidly. He could remember each of the ten shots fired from his gun into a dragon as visceral little twitches as his aching right arm tensed with the memory.

Lucio nodded emphatically, crossed the little cabin and shoved the smaller of the double doors open with an effort. He moved with an odd gliding motion that McCree didn't understand, then he was out the door. The door banged shut and wind gusted in and the embers in the fire pit glowed and caught with a little tongue of rising flame. The smoke whirled and McCree smelled burning pine and tried to breath out without shaking.

Scars wider than his palm on his side. Probably matching wounds up on his shoulder. His right hand was mottled purple and faintly yellow up halfway to his elbow. He should have died on that bridge and instead, the dragon had dragged him to another world and gotten a sorcerer from another time to force life back into his broken body. Whatever he had to say was clearly something. McCree took another breath. It shook, and he shut his eyes for a moment and dropped his head back against the wall.

He wished he could stand, which was ludicrous because he knew knew from experience a man could die just as well, and more comfortably, flat on his back.

The door opened again, the smaller side first, then the larger one, and the blue and gold of the dragon's head slid through the doorway and the long length of it's body began curving into the single room.

McCree didn't notice how small the little cabin was until the dragon was standing in it, long body curved in an arching circle around the walls and head bowed under the low beams of the ceiling. It looked at McCree with a flat red gaze and McCree stared back at it.

There was a scorch mark between it's eyes. There was still dried blood between its scales. McCree felt like a vandal all over again, it was an unfamiliar and unwelcome feeling and he had to remind himself not to look away.

"You brought me to another world just so Lucio there could haul me away from death's skull-head brass door knocker. Must have a hell of a deal for me."

McCree was grateful his mouth, with a lifetime of crime and talking to lawmen and bounty hunters and outright killers to hone it, could function on it's own without input from him.

The dragon regarded him coolly. It was keeping it's distance, a strange and unexpected courtesy that McCree was grateful for.

"Kill a monster for me."

"Sure," McCree's mouth said with a scoff. "Came to the right man for killing."

He stopped himself before he could go any further. His mouth had not been the only thing to be revived. It was high time for his brain to do a little work. Then he was stopped cold when the dragon snorted, it's muzzle crinkling in a brief snarl, and shook it's mane out. It floated up as though underwater. The sight of the downy, slow waving gold was almost mesmerizing and McCree forgot what he was going to say.

McCree noticed suddenly there was blood matted, ugly and dark, among the gold, and this time he couldn't stop himself before he looked away.

"You didn't seem to have much trouble putting me down," McCree pointed out the first thought that occurred to him and forced himself to look back up at the dragon's red eyes. "Why d'you think I'll fare better than you would?"

The dragon shifted slightly, it's thick coils rubbing together and clicked as the scales dragged over one another. The sound was close enough to the sound of a snake that McCree jerked upright and felt the hair on the back of his neck go up from sheer association.

The dragon stopped, watching him with narrow eyes and eased the tension in it's long body before it spoke. McCree clenched his left hand, forced his breath out and dragged his gaze up from the wide overlapping coils.

"I can fight it, but can't kill it." The dragon said after a polite pause.

"Well I'm not sure what you think I can do then," McCree said, pragmatism winning over pride in a brief, one sided battle. He forced his left hand open again.

"You can kill it," the dragon growled.

McCree opened his mouth to retort something rude enough he'd probably regret, and shut his mouth to leave the dragon's strange certainty for now. He hesitated, then watched the dragon carefully as he asked, "What do you want me to kill that you can't?"

The dragon glared back at him. Looking, if possible, more haughty than usual. "Come and see it," the dragon said.

It tipped its huge head to the side, and flowed slowly back out through the open door. Lucio straightened from his place leaning against the rough table and eased around the dragon's curving flank towards McCree.

McCree braced himself and began levering himself upright, and with Lucio helping him, managed to get to his feet. He was panting by the time he crossed halfway to the door, one arm around Lucio's shoulders and his left hand holding his side as though that alone could keep him whole. Lucio was even stronger than McCree had guessed, but even so, it was slow, painful going. Something about the way Lucio moved wasn't what McCree was expecting, and he couldn't quite fall in step.

"You got any more of that music in you?" McCree managed to force the words out through his teeth.

"Might have," Lucio said, and there was that tone in his voice again, a truth he didn't want to reveal. Then he went on in a slightly guilty rush, "We didn't want you fighting-fit when you woke. Didn't know what you'd try and we wanted to talk first this time."

The dragon had slipped out the open doors ahead of them into the windy night while McCree was still trying to force himself upright with Lucio. When McCree looked up, its huge head was visible through the open doorway, and the redness of his eyes showed as a dull metallic gleam in the low light of the cabin.

Panic hit McCree again, deep and paralyzing. He'd been scared so rarely in the last twenty years and now so many times in the last few hours, and all of them over this dragon. His step faltered as some sensible remnant of his hind brain found a survival instinct and presented it like a trump card.  

"How forward thinking of you," McCree hissed, holding his left side together one handed and dragging himself towards the door to damn his survival instincts to hell.  At this point, Lucio was baring more of his weight than he was.

The dragon made a low growl that McCree could feel more than hear, and he swung his head away so the flat red gaze looked away.

It was windy and cool in the darkness of the night outside. A mountain sloped sharply up behind them, and the view over the valley below was only dimly visible in the light of a startling spread of stars above. The little cabin had a porch of split timbers, and there was a little path that disappeared into the blackness of the trees downhill.

McCree gasped in a few cold, clean breaths of the high mountain air and tried to convince himself his wounds were not, in fact, going to kill him. At least not anymore. Lucio solicitously pushed him against one of the support beams for the porch, and McCree wrapped his right arm around it to steady himself. His head spun and his vision blurred and darkened at the edges. The pain in his shoulder and side were dull, vicious agonies, like smouldering embers under his skin. He could feel the edges of broken bone only barely holding together, he could feel the cracks in his ribs grating whenever he breathed. He reached up for his hat to hide his face. His hand fell on his hair and he remembered that his hat was back on the bridge with most of the contents of his circulatory system in another world.

"Take it easy," Lucio said. "You'll live."

That could have been a threat or a reassurance but either way, McCree cursed in a low, long steady stream with his head down and his eyes closed with one hand in his hair. It took a while, but with Lucio propping him up on one side, and leaning on the post, McCree managed to gain some measure of awareness as the pain reached some level of equilibrium inside him, and looked up.

The dragon glowed faintly in the starlight. It was curved around the little porch before the cabin, watching McCree with the same metallic red glint in his eyes. It was courteous enough to keep his distance, though seemed tense, shifting restlessly every time McCree showed pain or weakness. Picking a time to pounce, McCree thought dourly, and missed the weight of Peacekeeper in his hand.

"So, brought me out here to see a monster?" McCree asked when he thought his could speak without his voice shaking.

The dragon looked away from him, and down into the valley below them.

"It's coming," Lucio said quietly. "It's always comes back at about this time when it leaves the castle."

The stars were truly fierce overhead, and the moon was half full and huge and shone blueish above the opposite side of the valley. They were high up on the mountainside, this little cabin. He could hear running water and the hush and sigh of wind in the tall pines around them. The starlight barely lit the top spears of the trees along the slope of the mountainside, and McCree could just see down to a wide, clear area in the valley floor, with a few straight lines that suggested the walls and roofs of a town.

Something moved over the opposite lip of the valley, and McCree blinked and looked up just as a crash echoed out. A moment later he saw a few specks rise from the trees against the moon. Birds, he guessed, fleeing from the noise.

Nothing followed, and McCree looked back down into the valley.

He was starting to pick out the ridge of mountain tops around him and even the outlines of trees. Down on the valley floor, a river curved and bowed in a long, meandering ribbon in the moonlight. He could see the buildings of the town now, tiny at this distance, but that was a bridge over the river, a few boats tied up under it, a town square, some defensive walls with some major gaps in them. The fields looked huge and well kept, there were wide stretches of pasture up into the mountains. The entire valley was empty. No animals, no boats on the river, no lights in windows, not a single stray goat or sheep or ox on the grazing land or ringing their bell. It was totally, upsettingly quiet.

Lucio was standing perfectly still beside him. The dragon hadn't moved, and it's mane was barely swaying in the steady wind. Another crash echoed faintly from the opposite mountain side, and it dragged McCree's attention back to the far mountain.

Then he saw one treetop shudder as though in a private, hellish gale. McCree frowned, and glanced from Lucio to the dragon again, then back up to the far mountain.

The next time the noise reached them, it was a splintering crash that echoed around the valley before the noise died. No more birds rose up, but that just meant there no more were left. Another crash, a few breaths after that one, and another. There was a dull orange glow in the sky above the opposite mountain ridge.

"Just how much faith do you have in my ability for killin'?" McCree asked quietly, partly out of curiosity, partly to distract himself from the gnawing pain in his half healed body, and mostly because there was something cold and hard in his belly that felt like his survival instincts were trying to tell him something important.

Something huge on the opposite mountain top burst into flame.

It was so bright and unexpected that McCree winced at the sudden burst of light. There was a dull thump and then a roar, and a gust of hot wind reached them, lifting McCree's hair briefly and making him tense as the light cracked out a second time from below the rim of the mountain and through the trunks of the trees. Light shone out from around the tree trunks and over the crest of the mountain and for an instant the trees and rocks and ridge of the opposite side of the valley was in stark black silhouette. There was an inferno blazing somewhere just out of sight.

Fire leapt and rose and another crack sounded, a tongue of flame shot up, unnaturally bright and McCree shifted his footing automatically and remembered how much pain he was in. The fire didn't move like it ought to. An old tree in silhouette against the light swayed, then fell, tearing some of it's neighbors down as it went. Sparks gushed up into the darkness and rolled away in a cloud until they died. The light grew brighter, closer to the mountain top.

Lucio wasn’t breathing. He was standing a little back from McCree, not quite taking cover behind him. The dragon had gone as still as stone. McCree swallowed, and tried to keep his breathing even, his heart was beating hard.

Then it came. Up from the edge of the mountaintop, and lunging through the trees and then up past their bows, a thundering tower of flame and smoke and oily black armor exploded up through and cast sparks rolling high into the night. It was a tower of fire, it was taller than the pines and thicker than McCree could imagine.

McCree’s mouth fell open and he felt his right hand instinctively twitch to his hip.

Another crack, another tree shoved down without any apparent effort, and the line of fire reared up again and roared against the sky. Rage made into fire boiled up and rolled out from around it.

McCree squinted at a tower of blazing light. It moved in an undulating, unsettling way that forced the air out of his aching chest and made the dread in his gut go cold with unexpected revulsion. He watched it until he was forced to turn his face to his right shoulder, rubbing his watering eyes before he looked again. It moved like something he'd seen before, something so alien to what he was looking at it wasn't coming to mind.

The tower of fire shook itself and tipped forwards, smashing down like a swung fist and then landed with an echoing crash on the slope. Ancient trees cracked and groaned and fell around it as lightly as if they'd been stalks of corn. Another gout of sparks fountained up and the valley was lit briefly by the flare. Then it began to move.

It was a rampage. Trees swayed and crashed down around it, fire rolled up as the thing ran like a river of fire, winding side to side as it flowed downhill in long, constant curves.  

The seamless movement made one word click in McCree’s stunned brain. Centipede, he thought, and his mind immediately rejected that thought because the largest centipede he'd ever seen had been a foot long before he'd shot it into seven pieces in one panicked moment. McCree felt like panicking now, but he couldn't move, and a second word presented itself to his mind, and this comparison was much more promising. A train. A long, long train made of curves and oily fire, armored in something black and shiny, and capable of rampaging through old forest with no tracks.

McCree heard himself groan as fire rolled up and the thing roared, a point of brilliant white light just visible as it's mouth opened and it unknowingly turned towards them. His heart was pounding against his ribs and he tried to guess the length of the monster as it ripped through the forest. It was hard to tell, it moved with horrifying momentum and weight and unimaginable force as it barreled along. But the curving nature of it's path was insect like, and the smooth motion was the gait of centipede. A centipede the size of a runaway train, with an armored body of fire. McCree shuddered as another roar echoed up the valley, and another gush of sparks and flame tumbled up in an ugly gout, dimming the stars.

It broke from the treeline at the foot of the mountain, knocking the last few trees aside without seeming to notice. On open ground, it began to move as fast as bead of water on a hot pan, and McCree could see it clearly for the first time. Oily orange flames burst out from between black bands on it's back and sides whenever it's long body arced, each of it's legs was a torch of fire that moved in an almost mesmerizing order, each step flowing perfectly into the previous leg's gait. It's wide head was bright as a lantern under the huge carapace of it's face and spiked mandibles flicked out through the roaring smoke and fire.

The monster was bright enough McCree could have read by its firelight. Now that it was on the valley floor, McCree could see the little town down there clearly. Whole buildings became clear, signs and gardens and the ornamentation on the roofs or walls. The mound that rose above the valley floor McCree had thought was a natural foot hill was clearly visible now. High walls, gracefully curved roofs, a courtyard and cherry trees and ponds and balconies were all lit up like a model by a campfire. McCree's mouth opened slightly, as he looked at the huge grounds of a castle in the flickering orange light of the rampaging inferno barreling towards it.

The dragon hissed quietly, startling McCree who had forgotten him momentarily.

"Easy," Lucio murmured beside him. McCree didn't know who he was talking to. He could have been talking to himself.

The centipede was trampling through the town at the foot of the castle, higher than the roofs around it, it's rapid, flowing rhythm of steps making a long line of fire on both side, the outside of each curving flank blazing as the gaps between it's chiton belched thick, tarry looking flames. It climbed easily up over the walls, over the outsides of the castle then poured into one of the wide balconies.

It filled the balcony. A huge monster, too big to be allowed in the dwellings of people. McCree suddenly saw it as ludicrously out of place, a raging bull in a toddlers toy chest. The carapace of it’s sides were jammed up against walls, it was squeezed into the space, it’s tail still trailing off the edge onto the wall. Then it roared once more out into the night, and McCree felt his heart stutter and he just barely saw a bright, white hot hell inside it’s open jaws. It wasn’t ludicrous just then, it could be anywhere it wanted with a roar like that and a mouthful of fire. Then it threw it’s head around, and flowed down through a torn open door, and the flame disappeared inside the castle.

Another roar, and another puff of flame and sparks washed out the open door, boiling out from under the roof of the balcony and poured up into the night sky.

The castle looked like it was burning sluggishly from the inside out. But the flames never grew, and the castle stayed lit from within like a lantern. Slowly, the roars and growls and clanking of massive chitin slowed, then began to quiet.

McCree realized he was shaking, and blinked his dazzled eyes. The night was pitch dark around him again, and the white-hot brightness of the monster’s mouth was burned into his eyes, a purple red patch glowing before him wherever he looked. He took a breath, shut his eyes, grounded himself against the post of the porch and tried to force himself to slow his own damn heartbeat.

He couldn't. He couldn’t even stop shaking.  

There were no fires burning elsewhere. When McCree opened his eyes and once his night vision began creeping back, he look back up the mountain where he could see the scars from the centipede's rampage down into the valley. No fires burned up on the mountain, and no smoke hung over the valley. The village looked unscathed and just as empty as before.

McCree's heart was still hammering against the insides of his ribs. His breath was coming short and he wished he had his hat, at least for moral support, something to hide under. Silence continued to settle over the valley, and after a time, McCree began to notice the sound of running water again, the hush of the wind in the trees, and his heart began to slow. He could see stars again, after a while.

He realized a little while later that he wasn't shaking anymore, but Lucio was.

"Pretty highly," Lucio said, when McCree looked down at him in realization.

McCree looked at him blankly. Lucio looked serious for the first time, he was staring down at the castle with a look of so much terror that was almost rage. The expression was so unexpected on his open, amiable face that McCree looked away, as though giving privacy to a mourner.

"You asked how highly we considered your abilities," the dragon turned to look at McCree. "We think highly of your chances."

McCree straightened up, understanding dawned. This time he held the dull metallic red gaze.

"Generous of you," McCree said flatly. He wasn't sure if he should laugh. This was funny, if you thought a man burning alive was entertainment.

The dragon turned a little, smooth scales clicking over one another as the dragon pushed up from the ground and hung weightless above the path, turning his nose to look at McCree head on, just at eye level.

"Make a deal with me," the dragon said.

"You said that before," McCree remembered suddenly, the pain and fear and confusion and all of that under a slightly smug, slightly reassuring blankness. One benefit to death was that whatever problems you're dealing with, they're not going to be yours much longer. The dragon's offer had seemed laughable at the time, incongruous to make a deal with a dead man after all.

Now it was the source of a cold weight in his gut, sharp and cold as shattered marble. McCree was staring at a monster who wanted to make a deal with a monster hunter, because this monster was scared.

McCree shut his eyes and wished he'd just taken up bank robbing.

"Well?" The dragon hung in the air as though underwater before McCree, its fore paws tucked primly up.

"So what are you offering for this deal, hypothetically speaking," McCree asked. He needed to talk, if only to distract himself from the pain in his side and shoulder. Or, more pressing and much more terrifying, the giant, fiery aberration that he'd just seen. The nightmare train that had torn trees aside and had a mouth framed with spiked mandibles like a gate to hell.

The dragon's broad sides tensed, and McCree noticed in the faint light of the stars, his scales were somewhat disarrayed, some at angles with their mates, some cocked and presenting an edge outwards. He remembered suddenly on the bridge, the dragon above him with his scales sticking out, making him look jagged and even bigger than he had been. They looked painfully disarrayed now.

"You said it yourself," the dragon said. "I brought a monster hunter to a monster."

McCree laughed. The sound startled him and suddenly the irony and shock and pain and wonder and terror of this situation were overwhelming, but McCree was good at anger. Anger was reliable and it could be productive, if you were good at it.

"You dragged me here," McCree snarled out, still laughing with anger hot at the back of his throat. "You brought me here after near biting me in half and you left my hat on the riverbank and got me healed up just so you can watch me die burning alive and screaming as you run me up against--"

"No," the dragon snapped at him, cutting him off with a snarl.

McCree shook his head, still laughing.

"You had no trouble with me, dragon. What in the hell makes you think I can fight something you're too scared to?"

The clatter of scales rubbing together as the dragon's long body tensed and coiled in on itself made McCree flinch again. The visceral reaction of hearing a snake in the rocks before he saw it. This time he forced himself not to draw back even as the dragon froze in mid air and McCree just bared his teeth and went on before the dragon could speak.

"You killed me on that riverbank," McCree snarled, the anger inside him was burning away the terror and incomprehension of the fire-train-centipede-monster. Rage was a comfortably reliable force that could burn away everything, even if it was important. "The only reason I'm not dead is that you want me to die at your convenience instead of at your hand, that it? Thought this was a better way to get back at me instead of just letting me bleed out like I should have? Hell no. You can go straight to-"

"Let's not waste time."

Lucio's voice broke through the tirade. He elbowed McCree to shut him up and shrugged out from under his arm. He slid adroitly between McCree and the furiously glaring dragon and reached out to shove the dragon back with one hand on it's velvety nose.

McCree froze, mouth still open in mid curse, hand on his aching side, watching in fascinated horror for the dragon to snap the young man's hand off.

"It's a commission," Lucio said with perfect composure.

McCree barely heard him, he was staring as the dragon writhed slowly in mid air behind Lucio hand. It did not bite Lucio’s hand off. Which was almost as startling as anything McCree had seen yet.

"You're a businessman aren't you?" Lucio was still talking. "Listen to our damn proposal. Hanzo can fight the centipede but can't kill it. You're here because you can."

McCree glared at Lucio, holding the dragon back one handed and fearless. A wind gusted up from the valley, surprisingly warm air carrying the trailing smell of acrid smoke and lifting McCree's hair. He missed his hat.

"The hell makes you think I can kill that?" McCree finally asked. His pride was no use to him here so he went on without it. "You said you think highly of my abilities but all you know is that I damn near got eaten by this dragon here. Don't see how I stand a chance against a monster that can eat a monster that can eat me. I doubt I'm the man you need."

"I wouldn't be offering to deal with someone I didn't need," the dragon growled. It eased back from Lucio's hand and curved it's neck around to look at McCree directly. "I'm offering you a reward for killing the centipede and taking back what it stole from me."

The dull gleam of the red eyes in the starlight made McCree hesitate before he went on. The scuffed up scales were glowing slightly and the waving mane of gold still had mats of blood through it. It still smelled a little like burnt black powder. For the first time, McCree noticed that the dragon had delicate golden coloured horns in it's mane. The dragon's ears were shaped a little like a deer's, and they were tufted with pale blue fur and looked very soft. One ear had a bloody nick in the edge.

"You mentioned a reward," McCree's mouth said the well worn phrase while his mind was busy trying to come to terms with something more complicated. Shame was unfamiliar to him and so was the troubling concept of onus. Rage hit the concept of onus like a fire hits green wood. "What's in it for me?"

"Kill the centipede so I can take back my castle," the dragon said, "And I'll grant you anything you want."

McCree stopped. All at once, his expression went perfectly, and unintentionally blank. He couldn't feel the pain in his shoulder or side and his heart skipped a beat. He carefully did not breath for as long as it took a tiny thought to form in his mind. Like a soap bubble, the thought drifted up, and he didn't dare even examine it too closely for fear it would burst. _Anything you like._

"After it's dead, Hanzo won't need to be in our world either," Lucio added, "he'd be able to stay here again. So you can claim to have killed him back in our world for reward money if there is any."

The silence fell again. McCree had only half heard Lucio even though he found himself gazing at the young man. He thought of gaining a favor from a dragon, a favor from a creature that could pluck people out of their time.

"Anything huh?" McCree asked. He was looking past Lucio at the dragon now, but seeing something from twenty years ago and a long way away. Twenty _years_. It was so long ago but maybe not too far...

Lucio cocked his head and frowned slightly as he watched McCree.

The dragon just nodded, "Yes."

"Alright," McCree heard himself say it and something clenched cold and tight in his gut, panic or excitement or incredulity he wasn't sure, didn't care. The decision was made. The reward was too great to consider any other course of action. "Alright, you got a deal."

Silence fell heavily again. McCree wasn't sure if the dragon and Lucio were surprised or relieved or uncertain, but he managed to shift himself to free his right arm and held it out towards the dragon.

"Name's Jesse McCree."

Then he froze. This was ludicrous.

McCree had a sudden, hysterical image of the dragon maneuvering it's enormous long body around to take his hand with one long, needle sharp talon of one huge fore-claw. He froze, uncertain how to get out of this idiotic situation. He remembered the feel of the dragon's jaws snapping shut over this arm.

The dragon's head dipped slightly, uncertainty maybe, then shook itself from the tip of it's nose down the long line of it's body as it straightened itself out. Scales clicked, but it didn't sound like a snake this time. The golden mane flared out.

"Hanzo," the dragon leaned forwards, arching its neck so it's nose tipped down and it's long head hung before Jesse in a bow. He tipped his nose forwards, and touched McCree's outstretched hand in what felt very much like a formal greeting.

"Guess we got off on the wrong foot," McCree's bare hand was flat in against the dragon's nose. It was warm and solid and huge, the high arching neck a few feet above McCree's head as he looked up at the dragon's closed eyes. "But you got yourself a monster hunter. Nice to meet you."

McCree resisted an odd impulse to rub the dragon's velvety nose.

Lucio snorted. "That's right, bring it together," he was smiling. It might have been forced but McCree appreciated it anyway. The young man put one hand to McCree's shoulder and the other to Hanzo's cheek.

Hanzo kept still, gently pressing into McCree's hand, then opened his eyes. Suddenly, McCree blinked and realized that he was, in fact, slowly rubbing the soft fur of Hanzo's nose. He yanked his hand back and away and cut his eyes aside. He caught himself holding his right hand with his left.

"Alright, let's get you patched up," Lucio made a smooth gesture with his left hand that meant nothing to McCree, but the quality of light changed very slightly around them, green to yellow, and McCree sighed as something eased inside him. Lucio patted McCree and drew him aside a little, getting McCree's arm over his shoulder and guiding him back inside the little cabin.

"Sure, yeah," McCree said absently. He was sore and in pain and adrenaline was making his right arm shivery and his breath was still short. "Yeah," he said again. He glanced back at the dragon, at Hanzo, who was lowering himself to the stony ground before the porch, coiling into a pyramid and looking down the mountain at the castle and the sullen red firelight inside.

McCree flexed his right hand. The fur on Hanzo's nose had been softer than McCree had expected, and very warm.

"He'll be fine out there," Lucio said, looking up to find McCree looking back at Hanzo. He piloted McCree across the cabin towards the bed where he'd woken up. "Things'll be fine with you here."

"Some mighty high expectations you've got," McCree grunted as Lucio eased him down into the bed.

"Not me," Lucio said with the blunt, amiable honesty McCree liked so well. He grinned, "This is the very first time Hanzo's ever asked for help or offered a deal. It's not my expectations you need to worry about."

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you're enjoying this, next chapter will be posted on Monday, Oct. 23.  
> At present, this chapter is unbeta'ed so all the grammar and spelling mistakes are mine and I apologize!!  
> Super thanks to the dreamy [Windlion](http://windlion.tumblr.com) for her constant support and awesome brainstorming sessions! She busted up so many writers blocks I'm so grateful <3 And thank you so much to [Emotionalmorphine](http://emotionalmorphine.tumblr.com/) for encouraging me to stick with this one. ✧٩(•́⌄•́๑)  
> If you'd care to stop by and say hey you can find me on [my Tumblr](http://leoandlancer.tumblr.com)!


	3. What We All Long For

A sparrow darted through the Shimada Castle's great hall and fluttered up to high ceiling. It landed out of sight on a beam and kept perfectly still, breathing hard, and waited for the space of several long moments before it moved. Gingerly, it moved with naturally avian caution to look down through the lazily rising smoke. 

The huge centipede lay below. It was flat on it's belly, the joints of of it's hundred legs jutting up over the ridge of it's back. The fire inside was glowing sluggishly from between its iron-dark plates, and the eyes were shut. The glow from between the plates dimmed and rose in a steady, slow rhythm. It slept on.

Satisfied, the sparrow hopped about face, flicked its tail, and darted out through the wide open doorway to the balcony. Out in the greyness of the pre-dawn, the trees were misty and the air was cool, and the sparrow flapped hard as it fought for altitude, following a hunch up the mountain. 

It was a desperate hunch, and probably foolish, but the sparrow had heard familiar music last night, and he was aching with the unanswered question it posed. 

Years ago, the sparrow had made a little flat shelf of a clearing on the mountainside as a gift for one of it’s best friends. 

The sparrow flapped briskly onwards and upwards, it’s little heart racing. It was quiet in the clearing when he reached it, and perfectly still. The sparrow banked around in the air, and was watching when a young man leapt out of the trees twenty feet above the ground, moving surprisingly fast and trailing mist. He hit the wall of grey stone on an angle, pushed himself onwards, and skated up and along the length of the clearing, leaving green fire in his wake. The sparrow nearly fell out of the air in delight. 

The sparrow dove. It chirped once, and Lucio looked up, saw the sparrow and his face lit up in a grin of recognition. He fell off the wall. 

Lucio landed in a heap on the soft grass and bounced once down the slope of the clearing, flipping ungracefully over his head and shoulder and landing flat on his back.

The sparrow landed almost as gracelessly on his chest and chirped, losing his words and hopping side to side.

"Good to see you too," Lucio grinned, winced, and moved his left hand in a gesture that changed the beat of his heart, the rhythm of his breathing. The song permanently made part of him changed, and the colour of the light at his hands and under his feet switched from green to yellow.

"Finally. I didn’t know if you’d ever get back in without Hanzo or I," said the sparrow in a rush as it cocked its head. 

“Hanzo did get me. I was home in Rio trying to figure out how the hell I was supposed to help you when I couldn’t get back.” Lucio was grinning at the little bright bird, barely noticing his bumps from the fall, using both hands to try and cradle the bird to his chest. He missed the sparrow's original form. A sparrow wasn’t easy to full-body hug. 

“So that’s why he used the pools, I thought I heard him.” The sparrow ruffled it’s feathers then stilled, seeming to grow serious all at once, “It's looking for Hanzo again. It heard him yesterday and spent all damn afternoon out hunting. I think it's gotten most of the pools covered, which one is Hanzo using?"

"Waterfall by the cabin," Lucio barely shrugged. "The one right on top of the castle."

The sparrow whistled, a truly avian sound of concern and admiration. "Daring. Don't think that one's been covered, it's too close."

"Daring or desperate. He brought someone over with him, not just me."

The sparrow cocked it's head. The sparrow had spent many,  _ many  _ years with Hanzo for company, and at no point had Hanzo ever deigned to bring anyone anywhere. 

"A hunter. He used your plan and it worked, not sure if he'd say that though," Lucio, made another gesture with his hand, the song changed and his heartbeat sped up and the world went bright and hard and full of places to run, jump from, build up speed. He sat up, absently cupping a hand under the sparrow to give it somewhere to perch. He was familiar with the sparrow in all it's forms.

"Things always work for Hanzo," the sparrow ruffled it's feathers, an unconscious gesture maybe, but they stayed ruffled, and it almost looked like Hanzo's scales when he was angry. "That's why he's the leader. Or so he tells me."

"It was your plan and it came close to working too well. The hunter nearly killed him." Lucio picked himself up and shook grass and flower petals off himself. He skated up the slope of the clearing, and sat down with the stone wall at his back and the sparrow cupped in his right hand.

There was a silence as Lucio cradled his little friend, and let the music that echoed through his bones make the world bright and easy and full of possibilities. The sparrow was slowly rearranging its feathers, tucking them one at a time into place.

"Nearly killed him?" When the sparrow finally spoke, it's voice was a little absent. Something about the news seemed bewildering to it.

"When he reached me he was half blind with blood loss. He couldn't fly, was at his full size, could barely speak, scales were falling out over bullet holes that had broken bones." Lucio didn't linger on the worst aspects of seeing Hanzo like that. Hanzo had always been almost irritatingly calm and composed. It was meant to be intimidating and usually was. Seeing him snarling in pain, unable to speak and unable to stand without forcing himself along walls, dragging his tail; it wasn't like seeing Hanzo. It was seeing a monster, and Lucio had been terrified.

"I thought you were safe back in Rio, back in your time."

"I was."

"Ah. He went to Rio."

"He did."

"Oh," the sparrow cocked it's head with a feather still held in it's beak. "Oh no."

"Police lost him at the pool," Lucio shrugged. "No one got hurt."

"A human did that to him? Must be some hunter."

"Oh yeah. Also, the hunter was practically dead too. Hanzo nearly bit him in half."

"I thought he wanted a hunter?" The sparrow gave up trying to arrange it's feathers and looked back up into Lucio's face. It's not easy for a sparrow to look exasperated but this one had plenty of previous experience. The sparrow was  _ supremely  _ exasperated. 

Lucio just shrugged. "Ask him. He's not like you. Maybe he just didn't know what to say."

It went back to arranging its feathers, dropping eye contact again. "What do you think of the hunter?"

Lucio thought of McCree and his own reservations, his own horror at seeing what this one man had done to Hanzo. When he spoke, he chose his words carefully. 

"He wants money, badly. He's a hunter who'd sell me to an Opinicon for whatever bounty they offer. He absolutely picked a fight with Hanzo for money and didn't care if he died. But he's shown some sense. Actually he seems smarter than I was expecting for a guy who walked up to a dragon and shot it in the face. He might be an alright guy."

"I'm sorry," the sparrow looked around so fast he came up with an unintended feather in his beak. "Shot him where?"

Lucio tapped his forehead. "At point blank range as far as I can tell. Hanzo's not talking about it."

The sparrow spat out the feather out and ruffled its sore wing. "Incredible. I love this man. Just who we need around here.  A man to shoot Hanoz in the  _ face _ . Yes. How did Hanzo get him to serve?" The sparrow might have been faking it's nonchalance, but there was a flatness to his voice that would have been difficult to disguise.

"Asked him," Lucio grinned as the sparrow looked around at him again in apparent surprise. "Asked him and made a deal. Offered to pay him a favour if the hunter could take Ōmukade. The hunter wants something, something badly, he wasn't going to accept until Hanzo said he'd give him anything. But he offered his hand to shake and I'm pretty sure he's only got the one hand too, the other felt like metal under the glove."

Sparrows can't grunt, but this one managed. "Interesting. But this hunter doesn't sound all that sensible."

"If he's scared of Hanzo I can't tell. He should be."

The sparrow finished arranging it's feathers to some exacting standard, and perched in the steady bowl of Lucio's hand without moving for several seconds as together, they watched the sun creep towards the crest of the far mountain. The quality of light changed in the valley, and the river lit up white and gold.

"Think Hanzo's right? You think a hunter like this one is going to work?"

There was no question what the sparrow referred to, they were both looking down at the castle, watching for some sign of fire inside.

"He thinks he is, and the hunter believes that he believes, I think."

"Poor bastard."

Lucio made a low noise of agreement.

"Belief is better than truth for Hanzo," the sparrow flicked its tail, and its voice was quiet. "Always has been. He wouldn't make a deal with a monster hunter for anything less than rock-bound belief. I can't imagine how much of an impression this hunter made on him to make Hanzo bow to a human and ask for help."

"Hanzo ever been mostly dead before? It made an impression on me. I can only assume it made an impression on him. Not hard to believe in something when it can kill you. Stranger things have happened."

"True," said an ancient, intensely magical creature speaking from inside one feathery ounce of green bird. "And Hanzo believes in death."

They looked down at the castle a while longer. The sun was still below the mountaintops, barely lighting the rolling forests and turning the mists above the waterfalls gold. The long green fields were starry with dew, and the town looked peaceful this early, not eerie as it would when it became clear the town was simply empty, not peaceful at all. It was beautiful, and neither the sparrow or Lucio could look away from the scarred walls of the castle below them.

"Are you scared of him?" The sparrow asked the question like it had just occurred to him, and swung its head around to look up at Lucio. “The hunter.”

Lucio rubbed his thumb over the sparrow's back, frowning in thought as he marshalled his words. He missed the sparrow like he would have missed his music. It was an ache inside him, a jagged, hollowed out space that had been full and sweet before. "Even if I am, or grow to be, it's worth it if he can kill Ōmukade. But for now, I don't know him well enough to not be scared of him."

The sparrow spread it's wings slightly. It was an awkward gesture that came from the monster inside, and didn't translate well into green feathers and a nine inch wing span. "Hanzo won't let you come to harm." That was said with iron hard certainty.

Lucio looked at the little sparrow and smiled. "I ain't worried. Just aware that in other circumstances, we wouldn't be friends. In these circumstances?" Lucio shrugged, and enjoyed the touch of the sparrows warm feathers under his thumb. "Maybe I won't need to be scared. Maybe I won't have to remind myself not to be. But I didn't like healing him up last night after he fell asleep. I didn't like giving him his gun back."

"Gunslinger." The sparrow tipped his head into Lucio's thumb. "What a selection my brother has."

Lucio rubbed the sparrow's little orange crest of feathers. "He might pull it off. They both might. If they can resist their natural inclinations to kill one another."

"Are they..." The sparrow cocked his head again, a thought occurring to it. "Did you leave them alone to come here?"

"If they want to have it out, now's the time. I ain't babysitting them forever." Lucio shrugged. "They both have to learn if their deal grants safe passage to the other. If not, they don’t have a chance in hell anyway. All likelihood they won't need me for anything but making the silence less awkward."

“Don’t sell yourself short.” the sparrow shrugged again. Sparrows don't naturally shrug like it did, but it was a useful gesture and one universally recognized and the sparrow often wished shrugging translated more easily into his other shapes. "And your plan sounds reasonable."

They sat together watching the sun creep up towards the ridge of the mountain. Dawn in the valley was a beautiful daily miracle, but neither Lucio or the sparrow could take their eyes off the castle. Somewhere in the distance, there was a short sharp crack, like a log splitting. Lucio looked around briefly. He rubbed the little sparrow in the hollow of his hand.

“Before you fight Ōmukade, there’s something you’ll have to do first.” 

Lucio looked at the sparrow without speaking. 

"There's a lot of people being held in the castle. More than I can protect even if I wasn't focusing on protecting the rest of Team Dive. You need to get them out before the centipede begins a new cycle."

Lucio swallowed, his relief at seeing the sparrow again starting to flag. There was a lot he didn't know about the fiery centipede. That was partly because the sparrow had done everything it could to protect him, and partly because Lucio was absolutely certain he didn't want to know anything about it. "Alright." He said simply. "You know I have to bring Hanzo into it though, and the hunter."

The sparrow didn't reply immediately, and Lucio didn't look down at him, just kept looking up at the sky and cupping the little bird protectively with one hand. Eventually, he rubbed one comforting thumb over the sparrow's folded wings. It pecked lightly at him, rubbing his beak briefly against the pad of Lucio's thumb.

"How soon?" Lucio asked.

"Soon," The sparrow huffed a little sigh.

Then the sparrow explained a few things. 

It had been using the sparrow form for weeks now, and had been able to explore a good long way around the castle and into Hanamura, and had seen and heard a good deal. Lucio listened carefully. He was an attentive audience, and he and the sparrow had shared information this important before. They knew how to work well together.

"Alright," Lucio said slowly, "I can bring that to Hanzo. Or I can try."

The sparrow hopped a little tighter into the curve of Lucio's hand. "Make him do it. Bring the hunter into it if Hanzo refuses. Tell the hunter I’ll pay him a favour to get him involved if you have to. I watched Ōmukade eat a family."

The words were blunt, and for a moment, Lucio's breath hitched. His buoyant good mood crashed out. He suddenly wondered how much time had passed while he’d been safe and worrying in Rio. 

“Hanzo will help you.” The sparrow said, more gently, nestled firmly into Lucio’s palm. “Ōmukade can't eat much, or at least, it can't eat often, but it can probably keep eating, at longer and longer intervals, and so probably growing indefinitely. It's huge now, but i think it gets bigger when it eats. "

"Well shit," Lucio replied bluntly, "Alright. It's a jail break. I'll get Hanzo and the hunter on it."

The sparrow kept still, warm in the curve of Lucio’s hand. It was a desperately missed comfort.

"I'm glad you're ok." Lucio smiled at him. He rubbed his thumb over the sparrow’s wing.  

"Take care of yourself. Don't let Hanzo fail you. You're favoured and he'll respect that even if he still dislikes the idea of looking out for humans. Don't let him forget you're under my protection, and so you're under his." The sparrow puffed himself up without realizing he was doing it. Lucio shouldn't have to rely on Hanzo for protection.

"Sure," Lucio said easily "You got time before you need to go back?" 

The sparrow perked up. It hopped a little and spread it's tiny wings slightly. "Of course."

Lucio grinned down at him, then stood and took a few long strides over the rocky grass. The little clearing was wide open with the high trees on two sides, a wonderfully familiar rock face, and a twenty foot fall to some trees. 

The sparrow alighted from Lucio's hand, and flicked once around the edges of the clearing, a bright flash of green and white and Lucio grinned as he watched it overhead. Then he began to skate up the rocks again, through the grass and flowers and clover. He left fires of green light shining in his wake, lifting flower petals and stray grass. The sparrow banked around to follow him as Lucio circled the clearing. He jumped from tree to tree, arched over the drop-off and circled again, laughed with his head back and the sparrow flitted ahead of him, both of them building speed. He surfed up the side of the bare stone wall and pushed his left hand up with green radiance burning under his feet and in his palm. The music hummed in his bones, mingling with his pounding heart and laughter. The little sparrow sang beside him. Wind licked up his neck and his locs were weightless behind him. 

They jumped together, the sparrow shooting forward as a tiny green bullet and Lucio at it’s side in the still morning air. The world was a blur of speed and possibilities. They were forty feet above the trees over the drop off and both of them were laughing. 

Away over the trees, Lucio heard another crack echo between through the valley, and then more. 

Then the sparrow trilled and Lucio whooped as his friend dove past him, close enough he felt feathers on his cheek. He gathered himself, made one more jump with the force of all the speed he’d gained.

The pines of the sloping valley floor rolled out below them, and Lucio was flying. 

Something on the mountainside cracked and then rumbled, thunder in the cloudless morning. The sparrow turned it's head in mid flight and then Lucio shot past him in mid air.  

"Turn it up!" Lucio called. The wind was wiping so fast over his face be felt like he could barely breathe. He landed on the sheer bark of an old pine and launched himself through the trees, riding over the boughs and trunks and racing onwards and upwards. The light in his hand shone green, and there were long trails and wisps of light trailing behind them. The sparrow flitted after hm, swift and sure, just keeping pace now.

The huge bowl of the valley was open for Lucio and the sparrow, they could go anywhere here, do anything. Lucio had missed this freedom, missed the sparrow and he had it back now. If only for a little while.

Another crack and rumble of thunder, more echos that cracked in succession in bursts of six. Blue light lanced up through the trees and Lucio barely noticed it. He laughed, bared his teeth to the sun behind the mountain and the sparrow laughed beside him.

Together, they flew.

Lucio couldn't be hurt by falling. A perfectly reasonable lack of fear for heights had made refining his powers easy.

His skates hit the trunk of a pine, high up on it's crown, and he barely had to shift his weight before he shot onwards up the hill. The little green bird darted ahead and Lucio whooped and laughed and jumped and skated from tree to tree, across the faces of the familiar cliffs and leapt upwards. The sparrow sang in belligerent, unbridled excitement and joy, laughing with him as they spun and raced up the mountainside. 

It was still early. They still had time, they still had time and didn't have to part yet.

Faster and faster and higher and higher, Lucio was nearly at the crest of the mountain and shot up into the sunshine.

Something blue was flickering through the air. Blue and gold, Hanzo's colours picked out, high enough the sun could catch him. There was something on his back though, something glowing red and gold.

He saw that for a second, then he hit the last tree before the mountain's crest and his attention slammed back to what he was doing. He slid around the tree and balanced on one skate as he went around a second time, still climbing, and then leaped up over the rocky spur of the mountaintop. He was high enough the sun could reach him. For a moment, Lucio hung in the sky over the mountain, the new sun warm on his arms and shining up at him and the sparrow darted past him, between shoulder and neck, a brief little kiss of warm feathers. 

The mountainside spread out below him, trees and waterfalls and clear glassy pools. Hanamura away below him, the straight lines of empty roads and houses left cold.

Then the light under his feet bit into the rocky crag of the mountaintop again, and he jolted back to himself. Together, he and the sparrow shot back down the slope of the mountain.

This was achingly familiar to them both. The reckless speed and simple joy of movement and light and exertion. The sparrow was one of the only things Lucio had ever met that could keep up with him. Lucio was one of the few things the sparrow had ever met who could play with him on his level, in any form he chose to take. 

Hanzo used the term favoured. It was meant that the lesser creatures of dragon ruled land were  _ favoured  _ by the lordly dragon's attention. Hanzo had always been such a high handed, condescending kind of ruler. The sparrow was the one who felt favoured by Lucio.

The trip down the mountain was a long, breathless fall, punctuated by jumps and slides and Lucio turning head over heels in slow, easy confidence. The sparrow kept close to him, close enough to touch if it wanted to. Lucio held his arms out and let the wind rush over his face, under his shirt and make his locs weightless as he rode down the mountain in the largest jumps he could take.

"I have to ask you for something," the sparrow said.

They were back in the clearing, and Lucio was panting, happily flat on his back in the grass and flowers with his eyes shut. He had flower petals on his cheeks. The sparrow was perched on his chest again. 

The sun was above the peak of the mountain, but the light had yet to travel down into Hanamura. The mists over the waterfalls were lit with rainbows and the trees were green and gold on the upper slopes, below the line of sunshine the forest was still dark blue and grey.

"You know you can just ask." Lucio reached up, and cupped one hand around his friend's small, feathery body. The sparrow was panting too. "What do you need?"

The sparrow shifted, it looked, for the first time, uncomfortable inside it's own feathery skin. 

"Take care of Hanzo."

Lucio blinked, and sat up slightly with the sparrow gentled in his hand too look down at his friend.

The sparrow settled into his palm. A breeze sighed down the mountainside and made the flowers bow slowly around them. The smell of pine and fresh poppies gusted up. "It's unfair to ask," The sparrow admitted. "But I'm worried about this hunter. For both of you."

Lucio didn't say the monster hunter would be just as interested in the sparrow as he had been in Hanzo and Lucio. He didn't mention that the hunter was in just as much danger from Hanzo. "Sure," he said again.

"Just get us out of the castle, things will be easier after that. And we’re on the inside, don’t forget that, we’re your team, you’re not on your own." The sparrow glanced at the sun again, "I need to go, if it wakes up, I'll have a harder time getting in."

"If a jailbreak fails," Lucio spoke the words thoughtfully, "I'm staying with you, whatever side of the fence you end up on."

"No," the sparrow’s little beak snapped. The little sparrow didn't need his beak to speak but it added useful punctuation. "No, you stay on the side of the fence that's safest."

"Not an option," Lucio was usually an honest man and he'd never lied to the sparrow in all the time they'd known each other. "That jailbreak fails it's going to be because Hanzo and the hunter are either far outmatched or damn idiots. Either way, not worth my time. You are."

The sparrow looked up at him with fierce bright eyes, already about to shrill out a protect.

"I am your favoured," Lucio cut him off without raising his voice, "And you're my friend. Protecting you is part of that. You don't get to decide how I choose to do it.”

The sparrow didn’t have anything to reply to that. 

“Anyway, if Hanzo can't get you and the others out, it means you're going to have to do it with Team Dive from the inside. You'll need my help for that."

The sparrow still look mutinously rude, still ready to argue.

"I'm not leaving you to die, not again."

Lucio wasn't stubborn, the sparrow knew, he just had two methods of dealing with the world. One meant this gentle, easy going young man went through life making everything easier, better, funnier, and more pleasant for everyone around him. He protected his friends, played his music and got along on a tide of grateful goodwill and good works. This was the other side. This was when Lucio knew what he would do, knew what was right, and a continent would break apart if it ran into his conviction.

The sparrow glanced away. "Alright," he said.

"We should stay at the cabin for a while if we can, it’s safe. Otherwise, I'll come here if I'm able." Lucio said, "But if you need to get word to me, the usual caches are probably best."

"Alright. I'll probably leave any message by the Drummer. I'll try to be out here in the mornings though.”

“Give my love to the rest of Team Dive,” Lucio cocked a grin around the name they’d given themselves. Five favoured and the sparrow. Thinking of them all made his chest tight with homesickness. “I have to check on Hanzo, and the hunter.” 

“Yeah, I saw him flying,” The sparrow hopped, unconcerned. “Well, have fun, good luck.” 

"You too," Lucio held his hand up, and watched as the sparrow dipped out into the air, skimmed off into the bright morning air, and darted away over the trees towards the castle, and the fire inside it.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! This work is unbeta'ed, so any horribly embarrassing grammar and spelling mistakes are entirely my own fault, and i apologize. I'll work them out as I can!   
> Next chapter will be posted Nov 6. We'll be back to McCree and Hanzo and what they got up to while Lucio was on vacation.（＾∀＾）ゞ


	4. Candlelight and Nightmares

The train whistled as it clattered off into the night over the plains. In the steady silver moonlight, the flickering light of the neat rows of windows sliding over the blue blackness of the night looked alien and untouchable. Fifteen riders raced away from the light and the train, one of them with a treasure tucked under his arm.

McCree was a young man with his teeth bared in a snarling grin, two good arms, and a little horse that would do anything he asked her to. Fifteen horses and fifteen riders, all of them galloping hard through the dark. It looked stupid and reckless; the horses were nearly blind in the pale silvery light from the moon, but the riders followed a path. They knew this land, and they had run this way many times before.

It was the closest thing to happiness McCree needed. The warmth of the stone under the flying hooves,  the cool desert air, the smell of sun-baked dust and cactus flower, and the whip and press of wind on the bandana over his nose and mouth—all of it reminded him he had everything he wanted, everything he needed. This was all he'd ever needed to love. He tipped his head a little lower and fifteen horses all turned as one herd, their riders balancing with practiced ease. The noise of their hooves was like thunder in the dark night.

They weren’t alone. They were being chased --only six riders, with horses that had never been wild, who were blind on this unfamiliar path, and were driven on by furious riders that didn’t care. When the herd of fifteen wild-eyed riders turned in the dark night, some of their pursuers didn't, and after a moment two horses screamed as they tumbled into a dry gully. Four riders left, and McCree laughed. He held his reins with one hand, the other cradling something heavy to his chest. One of the other riders, a shadow in the dark with a horse whose patches of white fur looked slightly ghostly in the moonlight, rode up beside him.

"Want to have some fun?" the other rider called.

McCree could hear her grinning. His left hand tightened on the prize in his hand for a second, and then he heard the crack of a rifle shot echo over the plains. No one screamed in pain, and the horses didn't seem to notice the sound. Furious shouting came from behind them. The pursuers had fired their warning shot.

"Sure, why not." He tossed his precious burden to her through the dark, a heavy thing thrown between one galloping rider to another more than an arm’s length away. She caught it one handed and laughed.

"Have fun, Jesse," she called.

Fifteen riders on fifteen half-wild horses with blankets and belly bands instead of saddles. Fifteen riders in the dark and a treasure that would make them all rich.

McCree slowed his horse sharply and she nearly sat down, her head up, front hooves braced. She knew exactly what was going to happen, and turned under McCree almost without his direction as he drew Peacekeeper. He was alone on the plains between a thundering band of horses and four determined riders. McCree squeezed his horse back up into a trot, then a canter, then he was galloping back the way he’d just come. He could see moonlight flashing on the red stone through the shadow of his horse's long strides. Her hooves rattled up little stones and thundered on the packed earth. She snorted, tossing her head fearlessly as they charged back down the trail.

Ahead of them, four riders and one silver star glinted in the moonlight.

McCree leaned forwards, and brought Peacekeeper up to bear.

* * *

McCree woke with the sound of Peacekeeper's single shot ringing in his ears.

Waking was a nice surprise, and waking without a shred of pain in his body was nothing short of miraculous.

The roof of the cabin overhead was dark, smoke stained wood, and the fire that had been sluggishly burning all night was finally cold. McCree eased himself upright, waiting for pain that never arrived, and pulled his shirt open to see if there was anything left of the scars.

They remained, though they were pink and whole, and the pain in his side and his shoulder was just a particularly vicious memory. The scars were still large enough to make him light headed. Perfectly round and wide as his palm, they were going to mark him forever. Numbly, he buttoned his tattered shirt closed and slid himself off the bed to stand.

The cabin was empty and still dark, cold with the chill of the predawn dew. Peacekeeper was on the edge of his bed, and McCree automatically slung his holster around his hips and cinched it tight. He felt more balanced with Peacekeeper beside him. The gun was a reliable anchor to reality: it functioned as an edict and a direction and an explanation of intent. It informed his actions as much as the jobs he accepted. It had always been that way.

His coat was a crumpled mass of worn leather on the foot of the bed, and he scooped it up and swung it around his shoulders like armor, another comforting weight.

Lucio was gone, though one of the other bunks with an impossibly coloured bag open beside it looked like it had gotten some use. McCree had no idea how long Lucio had sat beside him in the night, singing and playing music that McCree couldn't see the source of. He'd fallen asleep with Lucio beside him and the music all around him and warm yellow light reaching to the dark corners of the cabin.

He'd fallen asleep with a dragon coiled up outside.

McCree looked around, suddenly wary, his sleepy attention suddenly sharpening to a razor fine point. A dragon that was not currently... His attention caught on something and snagged. Something had arrived and sat incongruously on one of the little footlockers.

His hat was there. He blinked at it, and remembered the dragon plucking him from the bridge. He’d been sure he would die like that, feeling cold air knifing through his hair, remembered his hat falling away. Remembered being annoyed about it.

He picked it up. It was familiar in his hand, old leather and a notched brim, old band that should have been sun stained past recognition. There wasn't even any blood on it. McCree stared at it for a while, rubbing his thumb over smooth worn leather, then stuck it over his hair and went to see how close the dawn was.

It was much colder outside than he'd been expecting, and the high mountain air made his breath mist slightly as he huffed out a sigh. A rosy grey light was creeping up the far mountain range, and McCree stepped out from under the eave of the porch to find that the remaining stars were unbelievably bright overhead.

"None of your constellations," a low voice remarked.

McCree jerked, turned in one motion and looked up to find the dragon coiled up on the roof of the porch. McCree had walked right out from under him. He was almost close enough to touch.

"Hell." McCree had nearly launched himself down hill in a dodge-roll. His heart was beating hard and fast. "It's too damn early to startle me like that."

The dragon didn't move, and kept himself curled in a tight little coil. His mane was up in tufts of fur lined into spikes, his ears were pinned flat.

They were both very, very still for a while, McCree staring up through the indeterminate light of the pre dawn at the blue and gold dragon, and the dragon staring back down at him. A moment passed, then another, and McCree felt the blood pounding in his neck and loud in his ears begin to slow and cool.

He had one hand on Peacekeeper.

A wind knocked through the tops of the trees and the high pines swayed around them. The hush of it was upsettingly loud in McCree's ears. The only thing he could hear in the horrible, racked silence. He tried to swallow his panic. He tried to force himself to breathe. He tried to parse out what he'd almost done.

He'd almost pulled a gun on a dragon that had already nearly killed him. Almost pulled a gun on a very powerful and very proud dragon who had hired McCree. Almost pulled a gun on an employer. That was a thought that found traction in his head. He could think his way through solving a mistake like that. The thought that didn’t white his head out with panic.

McCree didn't blink. Peacekeeper was still snug in it's holster. He hadn't drawn it. He hadn't offered any violence. He could still fix this.

Above him, the dragon didn’t move and just watched him with wide red eyes. His mane looked jagged and huge in the dying moonlight, and his scales were edged up. He had looked like this on the bridge, just before McCree had taken the worst attack of his life, an attack that should have killed him.

McCree held his breath and eased his grip on his gun.

His heart fluttered desperately at the action, aching to keep hold of the only thing about him that could control this situation, offer any protection. But McCree just let his breath out in a long, aching woof as he saw dragon relax. The mane became less rigid spikes and more like golden fur that moved slow and fluid. The scales tipped unevenly back down in a series of little clicks. The bunched muscles at the dragon's neck and along its flanks eased.

McCree's mouth was dry and his hands felt hot. He took a step back, keeping his gaze on the dragon as the dragon watched him just as carefully.

"Come down from there," McCree's voice was working on it's own initiative again, more familiar words that he'd said to judges and bailiffs and sheriffs through the years. _Get down off that horse and say that to my face._

There was no way a dragon was going to dignify that with a responce and McCree was already coming up with a back up plan—dodge roll behind that tree and get Peacekeeper out—but the dragon just snarled briefly and interrupted his thoughts.

Startling McCree into taking another step back, the dragon loosened from its tight coil and spread out and up. It poured slowly up from the roof and out into the air between McCree and the cabin door, then tipped its head and flowed weightless and gleaming as a gilded ghost in a wide arc around McCree. It settled itself with four clawed feet on the rocky ground, and its back and neck and tail arched up. Its head was of a height with McCree, and the arch of its neck much taller than he was.

"Obliged," McCree said, mouth still dry. The dragon was smaller than it had been on the bridge, or else McCree’s mind was playing tricks on him now that he wasn’t bleeding out. They were a little apart, a distance that would mean less to the dragon than it would for McCree. His heart was pounding again. So many things about the dragon were so strange yet so beautiful, so natural but only to it. The weightlessness and the grace and its sheer size: the dragon was all still so unreal to McCree.

Hanzo, McCree corrected himself. He had to get used to the dragon having a name. His name was Hanzo.

"Are you healed?" The voice wasn't a snarl, but it wasn't particularly friendly either.

"Yeah," McCree's hand had thoughtlessly come up to cradle his shoulder. "Yeah, Lucio did a hell of a good job. I'm grateful. Where is he anyway?" McCree would have given a lot for Lucio to give him a reason to look away from Hanzo without his body assuming it was about to die.

The dragon shrugged.

"Thought he worked for you?" McCree tried to ease the tension in his body. He swallowed and his mouth was dry and his body was still taut as piano wire. His left hand felt very cold on his shoulder through his coat.

"He works—no," Hanzo flicked one ear slightly, making some internal correction. "He's a favoured of my brother."

That brought up a new question but Hanzo kept going.

" _Was_ a favoured," he said with another little snarl.

The flash of teeth raised the hair on McCree's arm but it didn't look like it was directed at him.

"What's a favoured and how did Lucio fall out of it?" McCree asked. He wasn’t sure how polite he could be without being insincere. His usual tone of speech would have to do.

"Favoured is just..." Hanzo snorted and flicked his ear again, harder this time. "My brother used to travel extensively. When he made friends in other lands, sometimes he would bring them here. Sometimes they would live here with him, sometimes they would visit. Whenever he quested, he would ask for their help, travel with them."

"So," McCree spoke slowly, and wondered if all dragons were this round about. "Lucio's your brother's friend. You asked your brother's friend to help you out."

"An ally. Yes," Hanzo growled after a beat of silence. “And he never fell from favoured. Favoured cannot fall, they can choose not to be, but Lucio is favoured still.”

McCree wondered if this sounded like a gross oversimplification to Hanzo and if that explained the shortness of his response. "Well, generous of him and your brother for agreeing to—"

"My brother is dead," Hanzo said. He spoke the words with abrupt conviction, and McCree blinked at him.

"Condolences," McCree's mouth said automatically. He was still thinking about the logistics of something like Hanzo traveling in McCree's world. He had to wonder how the brother of a dragon, presumably a dragon himself, had met Lucio. How did dragons make friends? He couldn't imagine this dragon befriending anyone.

McCree’s thoughts split off for a moment, and a pain he didn’t deserve lanced up his left arm. The pain wasn’t real, but it still made his heart skip and his breath catch in his throat as he gripped his left hand with his right.

Hanzo was wrapping around himself, coiling in with scales on scales rattling and McCree's gut reaction stiffened his spine for him. His right hand tightened on his left, and no matter how hard he squeezed, or for how long, his left hand was unyielding, and the pain didn’t stop. His vision slipped out of focus, looking for a threat at a specific distance away that didn't exist here. A dragon was more dangerous than a snake, McCree growled at himself, furious again as his body's reactions.

The noise stopped. Hanzo was watching him.

McCree dragged himself together and looked straight back at the red eyes with the same calm look that had gotten him past guards and train porters, wardens and sheriffs and bailiffs. He had no idea what had made Hanzo stop moving.

Hanzo straightened his tail and shook his mane out briefly. He snorted, then said. "Lucio was the only one of my brother's... friends that I knew how to find. The rest were in the castle when it fell. I'm sure they're dead by now."

"That's... Why not get one of your own favoured?" McCree was talking on autopilot. He'd dropped his left hand from his right shoulder. Then realized he was distractedly rubbing the cold heel of his left hand. He stopped himself and put his hands at his sides. "Don't know anyone with a healing touch like him?"

"I have no favoured," Hanzo said shortly. "Collecting other races isn't something I pursued."

Isn't something he lowered himself to, more like. No interest in keeping a menagerie. Better things to do than feed the animals. McCree's thoughts were sour. "Well I’m sure that brought you comfort ‘till now. I wouldn’t worry, I'm sure no one would be fool enough to mistake me for your favoured." The words came out fast and a little mean, though McCree wasn't sure who the tone was directed at.

Hanzo however, tipped his head back and leaned away from McCree.

A little like someone being taken aback, McCree blinked. If that someone had been human, and not a dragon. Maybe.

"That is," McCree hadn't meant to be caustic. He didn't know if Hanzo had been hurt by a comment that had flipped easily off his tongue. "I guess neither of us know how this is supposed to go, that about right?"

Neither of them moved for a beat, then another, then Hanzo lowered his head again slightly, relaxing his neck to lean back out towards McCree.

"No, we don't."

He sounded resigned, uncertain and a little angry, but McCree was beginning to suspect the anger wasn't directed at him.

He tried to think of the words he wanted to say before he managed to come up with them.

"How many other..." McCree paused and wondered if this would sound too much like a hunter wanting to know when open season started. "How many other dragons are there?"

Hanzo just shook out his mane. "How many gunslingers are there?"

"None like me," McCree said; the casual cockiness came out automatically when he was nervous. He swallowed it back.

A snort, though it was impossible to tell if it was irritation or condensation. It could have been laughter for all McCree knew.

"There are other dragons of other winds, of directions, of water courses. There were more before me. There will be more after I am gone." Hanzo ducked his head, the motion rippling the length of its neck down to his foreclaws. "We're usually solitary: we guard our own lands and keep our own company. Well, most of us. My brother and I ruled together. And my brother was,” he broke off, tipping his head slightly as he eyed McCree. “He allowed many favoured.”

"Your brother sounds," McCree started, then nearly smacked a hand to his mouth to shut himself up. Hanzo's dead brother must have been one weird dragon to collect friends as freely as Hanzo made it sound.

McCree had survived a long time by not speaking poorly of dead relatives to their powerful kin.

Another silence, but this one was strangled on McCree's part.

"Yes," Hanzo said, generously breaking the silence, "Genji was unusual."

McCree felt his heart restart again. "Sorry," he said, and meant it. The word sounded strange on his tongue, he couldn't remember the last time he'd said that. "Guess I'm not much for talking. Usually don't have much need for it."

"Not much opportunity for conversing with monsters?" Hanzo asked.

"No," McCree rubbed the back of his neck. The real answer was worse now that he thought of it, "But I never really gave any a chance to speak, even if any of them could." That sounded worse than it had in his head. He held onto the back of his neck and looked out over the dark valley.

The sky over the opposite mountain top was growing lighter in the dawn, and McCree was quiet, not looking right at Hanzo, but keeping him in his periphery.

"I dislike most humans," Hanzo said. The tone of his voice could have been haughty or slow with some measure of wariness, McCree couldn't tell. "Even when they do have a chance to speak, they rarely make decent company."

McCree eased the grip on the back of neck slightly. He wasn't sure how, but he felt himself smiling. Hanzo was watching him. "Can't think why. You're such an easy-going, welcoming creature to speak to. Hard to imagine people don't get a chance to show their most enchanting side of their conversational prow-"

Something moved in the forest behind Hanzo.

McCree only saw it because he'd been watching Hanzo, aware that at any moment, this powerful, unfamiliar thing could reach out and bite McCree in half. He'd only seen the movement because he was already on edge and functioning through it on instinct and grit. Only because he'd been thinking of fire and chitin and the things that lived in the darkness.

It was the light that drew his eye, a low flicker of candlelight in the dark pines, the light of a flame that didn't touch the forest around it. McCree's hand went to Peacekeeper while his mouth was still talking, while he was still thinking of the ludicrousy of Hanzo assuming humans were at their best around him, while he was still holding the back of his neck.

The candle-flame moved in the trees, and chitin gleamed black and red and McCree had Peacekeeper out and his arm reaching to aim and his finger was already tightening over the trigger.

He was aiming Peacekeeper at Hanzo.

His heart stopped and then jerked in his chest in panic. He'd drawn his gun on Hanzo.

No, two inches beside Hanzo, he insisted to his screaming mind. He was pointing the gun at flame and black chitin in the trees--

Hanzo bared his teeth in a snarl, and lunged.

McCree stopped breathing. Red eyes gone wide suddenly, the vivid fury and hatred and intent in the snarl over that wide, softly furred face. McCree could remember how that fur had felt on his hand. Hanzo hadn't been very far from McCree, talking distance, and he now was closing the gap between them like an arrow. McCree's right hand tensed to twitch aside, shoot Hanzo full in the face and roll out of the way, live through this mistake, like he'd lived through all the others. He didn't have time-

Peacekeeper spoke in the early dawn.

Black chitin cracked and there was a sputtering, oily flash of flame and a startled little cry. The crack and burst of something more liquid than McCree had been expecting erupted in the forest behind Hanzo. McCree felt half an instant of realization, satisfaction, understanding. He'd aimed well, shot safely past Hanzo, killed the thing that moved in the dark, and McCree was still going to die from drawing a gun on a dragon.

Hanzo was inside his reach now, hurtling towards him with wide red eyes, close enough McCree could smell him, see the edges of his teeth, the whirl in the fur over his cheek.

Details were so sharp when you thought you were dying. The mind reached out for anything, everything, raking it all in for an explanation, a way out, a reason to keep fighting. A few seconds could take a lifetime to understand, a lifetime to process all the detail, if you were lucky enough to live.

Hanzo shot past McCree.  

There was another little cry, a horrible crunch that sounded wet and still brittle. Hanzo's long body moved fast, snapped up to circle McCree without ever touching him. He was close enough McCree felt the rush of air over his face and then Hanzo stopped close enough that McCree could have leaned on him.

McCree breathed again.

Another light in the trees, a little further downhill. McCree's gaze flicked up even as his right arm acted on instinct, aimed, pulled the trigger. Peacekeeper spoke a second time. A third. His arm was moving automatically, his eyes darting to flames beyond the clearing. Fourth shot, fifth shot, one bullet left in the cylinder, there were seven candlelights between the pines. The last shot sounded and a light winked out with a crunch and McCree was already moving with rapid efficiency to reload, snap the cylinder into place. Ready again.

Hanzo's long flanks were curved into a ring around him, the ridge of fur along his back up to McCree's chest, his scales rucked up and jagged. McCree hadn’t thought of it, but suddenly he was grateful for the cover Hanzo had provided. Peacekeeper was growing warm in his hand as he aimed and fired and his gun spoke in short, sharp expletives and the candle-monsters lurking in the trees were making short, wet noises in reply.  

More candle-monsters were lighting up all around them, uphill and downhill and on both sides. McCree and Hanzo were facing out from each other and watching a few become a dozen become a hundred lights in the trees. McCree had to focus on the swarm piling uphill towards them.

Six more shots and even more lights than there were before. McCree snapped the cylinder closed as he reloaded again, brought Peacekeeper back up. Was this the third time he'd reloaded? The fourth? It didn't matter. He barely had to aim. He could hear them though the trees, bodies moving and scrabbling and bumping into one another. Chitin clacking as pointed, insect legs scrabbled for purchase, swarming over each other as they came forward through the pines. They were so fast, and totally fearless.

Sudden thunder rang out close behind him, and Hanzo roared. There was a smell of ozone and a thick sounding crunch. The hair went up on the back of McCree’s neck and he felt the vibration from the thunder on his skin. A flash of blue light shocked McCree’s shadow out before him and he nearly turned to see what the hell Hanzo had just done.

The candle-monsters were still climbing through the trees towards them. McCree caught the boughs bending down and then the lights a moment after. He cursed quietly and fired again and again.

More were piling in, faster than McCree could shoot and reload. Hanzo's body was a long, tense line of flexing muscle and jagged scales. He snarled behind McCree, things crunched wetly behind him, then there came another bark of thunder and another smell of ozone and flash of blue light.

McCree’s jaw was tight, his aim still steady. He could feel Hanzo's shoulder at his back, could hear and feel Hanzo snapping and lunging out. The clawed feet stayed planted, and Hanzo’s long body stayed in a low ring with McCree in its centre. McCree wondered when Hanzo would get tired of this and simply float away.

McCree fired downhill again, six shots that meant almost nothing now with the genuine horde coming towards him. They were running now, climbing up around the trunks of trees and sideways over rocks and boiling up and over and around each other. The trees shivered and shook overhead as they poured uphill like a black waterfall on fire. They would be pouring downhill too, pouring down where Hanzo was waiting for them.

They were going to be surrounded. Very, very soon, they were going to be overrun. It was happening too quickly, he had to slow them.

Six more shots. Reload, take aim, six more and McCree was only biding his time before they fanned out just a little more. He could see them now, details so sharp again, they always were when you thought you were going to die, but what he was seeing didn't make the details easy to comprehend. Chitin gleaming in the yellow light of the candle flames inside spiked mouths, a boiling black mass bulging up through the trees out of the dark.

He was starting to feel the heat of those hundreds of candle flames on his face.

Hanzo's flanks shook and McCree heard him roar asHanzo's claws bit down into rocks in the forest floor. Another bark of thunder and this time McCree felt his knees buckle with the force.

Momentarily, the swarm paused, uncertain or paralyzed, and McCree took his chance and held Peacekeeper steady with his left hand over the hammer.

"Step right up," he growled. "It's high noon."

Something made of sunbleached bone and eager violence slammed into the iris of McCree’s eye from the inside and stared out. The world faded to black and red and simple. Skulls and rings over shapes that were just targets a three pound trigger pull from death. McCree thought of his family. Thought of what they’d said about him when he learned it.

_Ain't natural, Jesse, but we'd like you just as well if you were._

His mouth was dry. He could taste the red dust that always got through his neckerchief when he rode. He looked out at a world in red and black and forced himself to remember he was in a forest on a mountain in the rising mist before dawn. Deadlock was a long way away. His family was gone.

He lost count of how many times Peacekeeper spoke, his hands moving over the hammer of the gun that should have run out of bullets a long time ago. It took six seconds in all. It stole the air from his lungs and clawed itself further into his right eye and made his heart stop until he was finished, but then it was over.

He shut his eyes briefly, forced air into his aching lungs, felt his heart flutter as it began to beat again, snapped the cylinder of Peacekeeper back into place. He'd already reloaded.

Downhill, nothing but the flicker of dying candles and the clatter of chitin. Nothing moved.  

The ring of Hanzo's flanks had become smaller around him when he wasn't paying attention. He turned, looking uphill and already raising Peacekeeper to answer whatever was coming with Hanzo.

They were in the trees and on the rocks above them, pouring over from above. Even more than there had been down hill, and they were almost close enough to pounce down onto them.

Hanzo snapped one out of the air just as McCree shot it.

McCree’s heart skipped a beat and he stopped breathing. Hanzo froze in mid bite.

A second's difference, a few inches, and McCree would have shot Hanzo’s muzzle.

Another candle-monster scuttled down the hill and McCree aimed, then hesitated, watching for movement from Hanzo. Hanzo saw the gun and froze. There was a moment of understanding then horrible uncertainty.

McCree was pulling the trigger when he realized he wasn't aiming at the candle monster anymore. It was gone.

Something struck him hard in the chest and McCree swore with shock and pain and fell back before he could recover his balance. Fifty pounds or more was a lot of weight to receive unexpectedly. Weight and momentum and six black legs scrabbling wildly up his chest forced him back until his back hit Hanzo's flank. McCree gasped as the ridged scales bit through his coat, his shirt, into his skin and tore blood out of him. Six insect legs scrambled, then paused, and stabbed into him. Three of them struck ribs and three of them didn't. They went deeper.

McCree was looking at a monster with a smooth black plate of chiten for a face. No eyes, just firely etchings over the smooth plate and a hole for a mouth with a fire burning inside. It smelled like heated metal and burnt wool. Three legs that hadn't hit bone drove viciously deeper.

A wide red mouth snapped open over McCree, white fangs, gold mane, impossibly fast, and McCree froze as Hanzo reared over him, ready to snap him in half.

Teeth that left scars the width of his palm.

For an instant McCree thought that his hands, so used to shooting on instinct, would aim up into Hanzo's mouth and this time he might have better aim. The dread from that thought was surprising. He didn't know what his instincts were doing but he didn't want to shoot Hanzo again. The three legs in his chest dug deeper. Hanzo didn't move for a horrible, frozen moment. It was just a second, mouth snarling open wide, ready to strike, but frozen with his red eyes wide, locked on McCree's horrified stare.

The candle-monster stabbing through his chest didn't matter for that second.

A dark shape hit Hanzo's head and he roared, snapped sideways as a candle monster landed on his neck and McCree breathed again. Peacekeeper was in his hand and fully loaded and two more candle monsters thudded against Hanzo's head and neck.

Hanzo writhed, abrupt and furious and the sharp edged scales scraped against the candle monster's bellies and they shrieked and skittered uncertainly. McCree gave a brief, wordless bark of shock and pain, he was pressed against Hanzo's side, his back sliced open on those edged scales. Hanzo froze, and the candle-monsters jerked back into motion. McCree grunted and grit his teeth through the pain.

Pain was as useful as rage when you didn't know what to focus on. Pain burned doubts away better than anger in many instances.

He hadn't moved before, but finally his well trained hands had a directive now.  

Three insect legs in his chest drove in a little deeper- McCree fired.

The candle monster crouched behind Hanzo's ear like a tick screamed and shattered into oily fire and broken chitin, and Hanzo lunged around viciously down towards McCree, mouth open wide, snarling muzzle bearing long white teeth.

McCree didn't flinch. He fired up past Hanzo's open jaws. The second monster took the bullet almost at point blank range and shattered. Hanzo's teeth snapped shut an inch from McCree's chest and the candle-monster jerked all six of it's legs out of his skin before it broke apart. Hanzo shook it once and threw it aside. McCree breathed again. His hands were still moving, and he shot a candle monster on the back of Hanzo's neck that dropped aside with a little scream. Hanzo ignored it and snapped the candle monster out of the air as it was in mid pounce towards McCree.

McCree barely noticed. He shot again, and again, Peacekeeper speaking short, rude expletives, denials, and answers into the rising dawn light. Candles flickered and chitin cracked and whatever was inside them splashed unpleasantly when they hit the ground dead. He and Hanzo were moving together for now, desperately reading each others movements more carefully than their marks. They were aiming well away from each other, mindful of each other as they fought to control the horde pouring down the hill.

Blood splashed over McCree's boots. His vision was starting to blur. His hands were moving on their own discretion because his mind had become an engine that ran his body on fear and dread and hatred. It was only tempered by the thought that Hanzo was running this gauntlet too.

The concept of onus was a terrible one, and McCree was learning that against his will. The concept that this dragon could grant a wish McCree had cherished for twenty hard years was more incentive he didn't need to keep fighting.

Hanzo leaned back slightly, ears pricked up, mane full of spikes, his scales all edges up. He opened his mouth and a crackling bolt of lightning lanced up through the trees like an arrow with a sound like thunder. Three, four, seven candle monsters in all flinched up into a ball and were blasted backwards, a wide arc was knocked back away from the blast. There was a smell of ozone, Hanzo tensed again, barked out another arrow of lightning and McCree flicked the cylinder of Peacekeeper shut for another six shots.

Blood was warm on McCree’s sides and down his back.

Where was Lucio?

The thought made the cold dread tighten in his gut. If he was in this horde, they wouldn't even find his body.

He hesitated, fighting the impulse to look around. He hadn't worked with anyone in twenty years and he didn't know how to worry about partners anymore, didn't know how to work around anyone.

In that moment, he saw the seven candle-monsters Hanzo has struck with that crackling blue arrow of lightning squirm around, get back up on their feet, and continue on.

"What in hell," McCree heard his own voice, bewildered and offended because if he'd been taken out by this dragon, a sinister pill-bug the size of a terrier should absolutely be wiped out.

"I told you," Hanzo snarled.

The horde pressed in, tumbling down the hill between the trees and pouring down the path. He didn't have to aim but he was suddenly terrified Lucio was in that horde somewhere. He was suddenly well aware that while Hanzo could crush the candle monsters in his jaws with absolute reliability, McCree was the only one who could kill them before they got close. McCree picked them off one at a time, six shots and reload, a pattern that grew increasingly desperate.

The horde of single bodies were becoming uncannily like the giant centipede, a mass of legs and fire and swarming, heaving momentum with single minded focus.

It was right above them on the mountain, pointed right at them, the weight of the horde was suddenly evident to McCree, there were too many, far too many to keep from being overrun. They were going to be crushed to death under the weight of them before they could die of blood loss. There was blood on Hanzo's scales, matting the fur of his mane and the sight made McCree's fury a wild, bright hunger that lent Peacekeeper more speed, more vicious accuracy. The air smelled like gunshots and scorched wool and burnt meat and the air after a lightning storm. Peacekeeper felt heavy in his hand. It was a weight he usually didn't notice.

Something hit him hard between the shoulders and he staggered, crying out in fury as six legs scrabbled on his back, seaking purchase. They were in the trees right about them now.

Hanzo snarled, and McCree felt the ring of Hanzo's long body tighten around him.

McCree felt searing heat on the back of his neck, and thought of the spiked gate to hell that had been the centipede's mouth.

Moving on instinct that was indistinguishable from terror or rage, McCree reached up with his left hand and dragged the candle monster over his left shoulder with a snarl of effort. Hanzo was already turning towards him, mouth open.

Behind him, the crush of candle monsters swarmed and tumbled eagerly down the hill without Hanzo holding them back.

Hanzo had moved to protect McCree instead.

They stared at one another. The candle-monster held in McCree’s left hand struggled and gave an oily little scream of anger.

"It's alright," McCree managed, staring up into Hanzo’s face.

He was stunned and staring and aware that there were literally tonnes of chitin and fire bearing down on them. He was keenly aware that Hanzo had prioritized him over all that.

Stupidly, McCree forgot he still held that candle monster, and closed his left hand in a fist.

He'd taught himself not to do that. The strength of his left hand was a secret that could have him killed, but for now, it was worth it to feel the chitin of the candle-monster flex and crack and crumble in his grip. The monster shuddered and hung from his fist and he threw it aside and stared up at the hill.

The tide of candle monsters on the hillside was so heavy the noise of them were almost deafening.

Hanzo swung away from McCree all at once, and snarled out some command or order or permission. McCree didn't understand, but the air all around Hanzo's blue scales shimmered and glowed. A bright, vicious wind whipped up, lifting McCree's hair and making him hold his hat down. Then a light inside the long blue body rose in a long, perfect ghost of Hanzo, blank eyed and savage. A dragon of light, mirroring Hanzo, both dragon’s wrapped around McCree.

Then the ghost was moving, shot forwards and spiraling in mid air and then suddenly there were two ghostly dragons, twining around each other as they shot up hill. The sound they made was a roar that dragged the hair up on the back of McCree's neck and unwillingly, he put a hand out to Hanzo's side to steady himself, reassure himself Hanzo was still real.

The blue ghostly dragons went on, sure as an arrow shot, straight up through the horde funnelled into the path. The entire train of little candle monsters screamed and were thrown uphill, some bouncing so hard against the rocks of the mountain or each other they shattered on impact. The dragons rampaged on, plowing through candle monsters and throwing them away before them until they were out of sight.

Stunned, McCree was still staring after the dragons when fifty pounds of chitin and fire hit his back. Six little insect legs scrabbled over his sides and stapled his left arm to his chest with vicious little stabs. McCree gasped and swore and then he was falling forwards, face first into Hanzo's edged scales.

Hanzo snarled above him, and a blur of blue and gold and McCree was weightless for a horrible moment. The candle monster clung stubbornly to McCree and Hanzo lifted them both for a moment. Then there was a crunch, McCree dropped back down to the ground.

“Thanks,” McCree gasped out, coming back to himself and looking up.

The candle-monsters were all around them.

They were actually beginning to press up against the jagged sides of Hanzo's flanks. They couldn’t climb him, but they could climbing up and over each other, and were trying to wash over his sides into the perfect safe circle where McCree stood.

"Get up on my back," Hanzo snarled.

"You've got a skin made of broken glass," McCree said flatly, staggering before he managed to right himself, "I'd rather die standing if it's all the same to you."

"Get on," Hanzo's voice was a low roar, something so far away from how he usually sounded. The voice of a monster.

McCree glared up at him with his head cocked, they were surrounded on all sides, the candle-monsters were pressing against hanzo's flanks and scrabbling for purchase, they were dropping out of the trees. McCree was panting with blood on his sides and back. Peacekeeper felt heavy.

"Trust me," Hanzo growled.

The words sounded so pained under the anger, something wrung out in Hanzo's tone. McCree wondered stupidly if Hanzo had ever said those words before.

McCree's hands were well trained, his body could move in accordance with it's best options for survival even if McCree's stupid brain had no idea what that option was. He thought of half wild horses as he made an effort, and jumped up to swing a leg over Hanzo's back. He wasn't made of broken glass now. An optimistic candle-monster grabbed McCree's boot with all six little claws.

"Hold onto me," Hanzo's voice, more authority now, almost sounded relieved.

McCree's hand reached into the golden fur of Hanzo's mane and held on. For a moment, McCree tried to tuck his toes into a belly band that wasn't there. Hanzo's back was almost too wide to get a good seat.

Then he let his breath out all at once in a little woof and shut his eyes tight and dug his fingers into the golden mane and made a fist because Hanzo was flying.

There was a clatter as candle monsters went scattering away, the mass that had been building around them blew apart and McCree kicked the monster clinging to his boot down and away. Hanzo shook his mane out as they burst out from between the pines, their lower boughs heavy with black chitin and candle lights.

They went spiralling up into the sky, moving faster than a horse could run, faster than a train, and McCree ducked his head to keep his hat on and forced himself to breath and opened his eyes in dumb amazement when Hanzo slowed. The sun was up over the ridge of the mountain from up here. McCree saw the sunrise spread over the mountain below him, the white lines of waterfalls and the cool mists of the forest. The little village below him looked peaceful with the river making a bright ribbon through it.

Hanzo's horns flashed gold in the sunshine as he banked around, and the reflection played briefly over the underside of McCree's hat.

McCree blinked, and stared, and felt his mouth fall open. His hand shook in Hanzo's mane. They were high above the forest, high enough that the light that had been shining up in bars and lances up into the sky from behind the far mountain range was dazzling in his eyes. They were high enough that they had come to meet the dawn. The forest was still dark below them, the rigid lines of the cabin breaking the soft chaos and lovely lines of the trees and rocks and cliffs and falls. The mountainside was huge under him, and a line of golden light was creeping down from the mountaintop as the sun rode over the opposite range, lighting up the trees and rocks and a long bright waterfall.

Something green flashed above the peak of the mountain, far away along the ridge, then it dove down and was gone.

McCree felt something in his chest, a laugh or a sob, and balanced his weight easily as Hanzo moved like a water snake through the cool morning air.

"Can you see them all now?" Hanzo said.

McCree blinked, and looked straight down towards their cabin. There was a roiling black mass in the trees and flickers of candles, a horde mashing and swarming against itself in the clearing by the cabin where they had stood. They were in the trees up the mountainside, boiling up from down the hill. The swarm was an ink-black mass that glinted with flame in a circle below them, innumerable. They were climbing up each other, stretching up towards Hanzo. There were too many to see the forest floor. McCree could see trees bowing under their weight as they climbed and fought for height.

"Oh, sure," McCree heard himself say. Something made of ancient violence and broken bone hit the inside of his right eye and his breath caught. "That'll do fine."

His left arm felt heavy, but he wouldn't be the one moving it in a second. He stared down at a simple world in black and red.

"Step right up," McCree growled for the second time that day, "It's high noon."

* * *

He could remember the taste of red dust in his mouth. He still dreamed of the wide red bowl between the hills over Deadlock Gorge. Even in the moonlight, the land was red.

McCree didn't slow when he charged the four riders chasing him and his family. The moonlight was enough for this and McCree shot three times between his horse's ears as they galloped towards each other. One of the riders dropped aside without a sound. A horse tried to stop, reverse direction, bite it's rider, and jump sideways simultaneously. It's rider swore, then his voice cracked as he was flipped neatly over the horse's head.

Two rifle shots replied, and McCree felt at least one of the bullets pass close enough he could feel the wind of it.

Another horse jerked its head up in mutiny as McCree fired three more times. One of the riders fell back then caught herself, maybe out of her saddle, but she stayed on her horse. Three people swore in the moonlight, four well bred horses reared and kicked and screamed their uncertainty and fear.

Then McCree and his little half-wild horse were among them. He was low over her neck, her hooves striking down in a savage, single footed gallop than thundered among these lesser beings. They were a bullet tearing through them, close enough that McCree could flip Peacekeeper in his hand and slash down with it's spurred handle onto one of the rider's legs as he passed. A horse screamed and reared in panic and rebellion and then McCree was through and riding back they way they'd come. Three riders in various states of barely-hanging-on horseback were struggling to get their mounts under control.

McCree slowed his little horse and let his silhouette show with the moon on his side as he watched them, laughing. His horse, with an appropriate sense of drama, reared slightly with McCree leaning into the motion. She tossed her head and whined rudely at the other horses.

Now the three remaining riders had a choice to make. Fourteen riders galloping into the darkness, widening the gap at every second. One laughing outlaw a few lengths away from them on the lighter path above the gully with no bullets left in his gun.

All three turned towards him, their horses fighting every step, and McCree tipped himself aside and his horse followed the movement and he and the brave little half wild horse went bursting up over the gully path in the moonlight. The three furious riders kicked their horses into motion to catch him.

McCree laughed. The plains were a wide open road to him, and neither he or his half wild horse were afraid of the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading!! Next chapter will be posted Wednesday, Nov. 15. I'll be posting on alternate Wednesdays for a bit because Mondays is DnD night now =D  
> [I have a tumblr](http://leoandlancer.tumblr.com)! Please come by if you'd care to, it's about 98% reblogs of excellent Overwatch art, and about 1.5% of Overwatch jokes, and a solid .5% pictures of boats.  
> Work was beta read by the awesome and patient Windlion!! Further edits will be coming in as my long suffering beta readers parachute in to deal with my idiocy.  
> But seriously thanks for checking this out. (ゝω･)ﾉ


	5. A Man With a Plan

He used Dead Eye for  its full duration. He couldn't count  off the number of times he fired Peacekeeper. He'd killed so many and it had taken so long that the thing staring out  of his right eye had crowed with excitement and misplaced vengeance. He'd fired so many shots Peacekeeper was almost too hot to hold once he was finished. 

Then it was over. The noise of the  horde under them, a rising tide of clattering chitin and spitting fire died to nothing. 

McCree swayed on Hanzo's back, clinging with just his legs and looked down. For an instant, he was weightless, drifting to the side like a dust mote, gazing down at the tops of trees, then at the heaps of dead  chitin a hundred and twenty feet down. The sunrise was just beginning to light the tops of the trees below him. The world was smokey blue and golden light and the pines looked soft and lovely from so high up. 

Then his weight caught up to him. His body was whole and exhausted and aching and pulling sideways and out of his ability to stop himself. Then he was falling with no strength left in him. 

"Hold on,  Gunslinger,"  Hanzo snapped. 

McCree jolted as Hanzo cut sharply down and to one side and centred McCree on his back again. For an instant, McCree tipped forward, eyes closed, his face nearly buried in the golden mane. He made a small noise somewhere between a grunt of  assent and a whimper. 

Dead Eye had felt exhausting when he'd been a child just learning how to use it. It had been frightening until he'd realized he wasn't using it, it was using him. To be effective, all Dead Eye needed was his obedience, his ability to follow the instincts and training and motions of something older and meaner than he would ever be. Now he didn't notice using it, mostly, now it was just one more thing he could  do every now and again, something that could turn the tide in his favor. 

This time however, this time the world had blinked back from black and red to green and brown and blue scales and gold fur and McCree felt like his soul had been dragged behind a horse. He felt like whatever he'd just done had better have turned the tide in his favor or he was leaving. To hell with this hot mess if what had just happened hadn't made an impact. He was giving up and going home and taking up a nice safe retirement. Bank robbing was sounding better and better.

"Hold on to  me."  Hanzo's voice was a snarl this time.

McCree grunted in agreement and felt the gold fur of Hanzo's ruff begin to prickle as it went from downy fur to spikes.  

Felt the fur on his face. 

McCree snapped upright, nearly falling sideways again and scrambling for a handhold. He'd face planted into Hanzo's mane. He'd practically fallen asleep in it. 

McCree rubbed his sore right eye with the back of his hand and gripped the golden fur.  

He had both eyes shut and both hands in the golden mane when  when Hanzo stilled, and the long, hard lines of muscle shifting minutely under McCree eased. A few moments later, he felt a breath on his face, and shuddered, remembering the moment he knew  he would die on the bridge over the little river. For an instant, he thought he could hear the drip of blood falling between the slats of the bridge to the water. 

"There's blood," Hanzo's voice, close before him, "On your face." 

McCree blinked. The lashes around his right eye were heavy, and Hanzo was back on the roof of the cabin, twisted around to look back at McCree in the face. His face was side on, and for the first time, McCree could clearly see the shape of Hanzo's horns. They weren't golden coloured, McCree realized stupidly, staring, Hanzo's horns were  _ gold _ .

"What's that?" McCree was stupefied for many reasons, not least of which was bloodloss. 

" Blood."  Hanzo tipped his head slightly, and one long gold whisker reached forwards, one curve moving towards McCree's face. 

McCree jerked back instinctively, staring. 

Hanzo stopped cold, and drew back a little, the long whisker flicked away harmlessly. "You're crying blood." 

" Damnit."  McCree was still frozen, unable to move and he forced himself to wipe his right  cheek. His  glove was bloody when he looked at it. His right eye ached. His realized his beard felt a little heavy and sticky on his right side.

"What you did," Hanzo said  slowly, " Was impossible." 

" Sure."  McCree used both hands to wipe his face. He felt a little light headed. There was light enough to see the blood on his brown gloves and the blood between Hanzo's scales. He'd bled a little into Hanzo's mane. "And you? I saw a ghost of you double itself and charge uphill killing everything. How'd you do that?" 

"That's not unusual," Hanzo said, uttering the biggest lie McCree had ever heard. "They're guardians of my clan. That's just the form they take when I call them." 

McCree grunted. He blinked his eyes open again and this time, managed to look around. They were on the roof of the cabin, and there was a sea of broken  chitin below them, mixed with something wet and sticky that was too unlike blood to be natural. There were scraps of flesh here and there, occasionally McCree could see a sticky tuft of wool or something that looked like bone. 

He whistled low under his breath. The sun was still below the ridge of the opposite mountain range, but high enough to send long bars of light up through the clouds, shedding pale  diffused light over the grizzly scene. McCree saw something odd in the messy ruin below, and squinted at it. 

Without thinking, he tipped his head, shifted his weight and flexed his legs, using his seat to ask his mount to move closer. 

Instantly, his mount tensed,  its fur snapped up in affronted spikes, and it snapped  its huge head around. 

McCree blinked at Hanzo's bright red eye glaring cold fury at him and remembered too late that he was sitting astride a  _ dragon _ . 

" Ah." Mc Cree swallowed, dry mouthed and stared into Hanzo's furious glare. "Right." 

He had never missed the reliable little horse from his youth so much. Adrenaline shocked him back to full horrible awareness. He dropped hastily down and sideways, staggered, went to catch his balance with a hand on Hanzo's side and caught himself in time before he did. He fell over sideways and sat down hard instead of  pushing his luck and  touching Hanzo again. He clutched his hand safely to his chest. 

Hanzo was hissing softly and his fur was still rucked up in indignation. Out of the corner of his eye McCree, determinedly not looking directly at Hanzo, saw him slowly edge his scales upright at jagged, defensive angles. McCree felt a twist of guilt, and something like disappointment.  

" Sorry." M cCree's voice caught, feeling light headed from standing again, from their fight with the candle monsters, from blood loss, from nearly clapping spurs to a  _ dragon _ , from nearly clapping spurs to  _ Hanzo _ , a  _ dragon _ , who had already  _ nearly killed him in the last few hours _ . 

All without Lucio around to heal him. 

His life hadn't flashed before his eyes on that bridge but he felt it might start now. 

"Sorry, I..." McCree cut himself off as he felt his mouth had burned dry suddenly, and he shook himself. From the corner of his eye, he could see Hanzo's scales fully up, broken glass skin again. Clearly, Hanzo had learned that allowing McCree near him was, and had been, a mistake.

The tension in McCree’s gut was unmistakably disappointment.

Not wasting anymore words, McCree dropped off the low edge of the porch, and landed in the mess of  chitin and blood.

It was deeper than he had expected, and he sank almost up to his knees. He swore softly under his breath, and looked around.

Here and there, a tiny candle flickered and faded, but mostly, the bodies lay where they'd fallen, six legs curled in on themselves, blank faces with a little hole for a mouth tipped at angles all around him. He pulled one around and inspected it. They were much heavier than they looked, and somehow less complex than he had expected. He'd been thinking of them as giant insects, but they had as much in common with the natural elegance and the complicated workings of an insect that a toy soldier had with a real one. 

He scowled at it, turning it over and over and watching the creature's legs move as though attached to broken clockwork, something internal failing in a way utterly unlike flesh and bone. There were faint lines in the carapace and more lines in a design of some kind on face of the candle monster. The marks didn't look natural, they looked deliberate. They almost looked like a language. 

McCree stared at the lines, willing them to make some kind of sense. Then he shook his head slightly, wondering if he'd seen these marks before or if the familiarity was just imagined. He steadied himself, and used his left hand to pull at the  chitin plate over the dead monster's dark face. 

The plates slowly eased open. Somewhat to his  surprise , McCree found the entire face opened up in segments that moved together;  its entire face was a mouth. The mandibles, which had been tucked somewhat self-consciously under where  its chin would be, were long enough and mobile enough to drag a creature into a fiery maw as wide as this creature was fat. It was dark inside the monster now, something was stuffed inside in a way that made McCree feel nauseous. When he pulled his gloved left hand away, the plates of  its face began reflexively easing shut, closing back in on the dark, charred looking mass inside it. 

Then one of the plates simply crumbled away. 

"What did you do?" Hanzo's voice was above him. He was peering down over the edge of the roof, fastidiously staying out of the sea of corpses and directly above McCree's head.

McCree blinked straight up at him, then dumbly looked back down and touched the ash that remained from the crumbling chitin. Then he pulled both hands away just in time, and watched the candle monster crack, then flake, and finally, its chitin became a powdery ash that boiled slowly up like rust left to run over steel, and the chitin fell away into nothing. 

"Nothing," McCree muttered, scowling in confusion at the ash and dust in his hands  and then looking around. "It's happening to all of them." 

All around him, the candle monsters were dissolving, the  chitin falling in on itself, the spiked legs cracking into nothing. It was like a sea of embers left to cool, they just broke apart in flakes and dust and crumbled into  charred little heaps. The stink of burnt wool and offal began to rise, and McCree stepped back, then found the edge of the porch and climbed up onto it. The candle monsters were dissolving out from under and around him. The mount beside the cabin was subsiding as the  chitin broke away, but out of the ash, something worse was becoming apparent.

The ash mixed with the slime that wasn't blood, and then began blowing away as the morning breeze ruffled the trees. The liquid that had been inside them, oily and reeking, began to dry out, and McCree began to recognize shapes of what had been inside the monsters.

There were fewer than he might have expected. Only one or two to a monster, and after his initial dread, his panic subsided into a bone deep revulsion. He coughed as the stench rose around him, and the smoke and dust formed a haze in the early morning light. 

Inside every candle monster carapace, there had been an animal. They were twisted and crumpled, most of them had been crammed in such a way that legs had been broken and heads bent at horrible angles. Pigs and sheep and the occasional small cow, mounds of chickens, all of them scorched and burned. McCree coughed again at the smell of burnt wool and feathers. 

"I didn't know..." Hanzo started, then stopped. 

There were too many to count, too many to deal with. They were heaped two or three deep around the place where McCree and Hanzo had made their stand in the clearing before they'd flown to safety. They would be scattered up and down the side of the mountain around them. They had taken the thing in McCree's right eye eighteen seconds to kill. 

"I didn't know where the animals had gone. I had hoped they'd fled. Ōmukade showed no interest in them." Hanzo’s voice was more quiet than McCree had ever heard before.

McCree sat down on the porch, still light headed, still aware that he'd been stabbed three times by a candle monster and he wasn't equal to this. "Ōmukade’s the fire bug?" 

"Centipede King," Hanzo growled.

"I've never met royalty. What an honor,  say."  McCree shoved his hat forwards to cover his eyes briefly. "We need to look for Lucio." 

"No," Hanzo said. He sounded short, but sure, and McCree just waited, hoping for more of an explanation.

None came, so McCree pushed his hat back and went on.

"He ain't here, and I don't know about you, but this swarm didn't seem all that  friendly." M cCree cocked his head at Hanzo. 

Hanzo just shook his head briefly. "He used to come here with my brother, and the other favoured. There's trails he cut himself, and places he practices his abilities. He knows the area better than I do, he can outrun the scouts, he can protect himself. He can't be hurt here." 

McCree opened his mouth, then shut it again. For all he knew Hanzo was being literal when he said Lucio wouldn't be hurt on his own familiar area. Then the rest of Hanzo’s words caught at an observation in McCree’s head. Six beds inside the cabin, and McCree wondered if that was  how many favoured Hanzo's brother had had, and if Hanzo's brother slept on the roof when he and his favoured came out here. 

"Fine, let me know if more  come."  He grunted as he eased himself back to sit against the wall. Hanzo snorted somewhere above him, and McCree permitted himself the luxury of ignoring him, just this once. 

He had his hat over his face with his head back against the wall and his coat warm and heavy over his chest when Hanzo said something and McCree startled out of the lightest, earliest part of a doze. 

"What's that?"  he asked, already muzzy. 

"Have you killed things that weren't monsters?" Hanzo's voice was quiet.

McCree peeked from under his hat brim, and found Hanzo floating in the smoky air beside the cabin, close to the porch and looking out over the clearing, at over a hundred charred creatures lying dead amid the ash of broken  chitin . Hanzo's scales weren't rucked up anymore, his fur was drifting softly around his head, his whiskers drooped. 

He wasn't looking at McCree. For the first time, McCree was armed, and Hanzo wasn't watching him. 

McCree didn't know what to say. He studied the back of Hanzo's ears, at the golden mane of fur, looking at Hanzo without the dread of that flat red gaze challenging his. The wounds on Hanzo's flanks where McCree had shot him were healed, just a few patches of blue a slightly lighter colour than the scales around them. The smoke over the clearing was slightly green and the light was just starting to reach them over the peak of the mountain. Hanzo looked like a god floating desolate over the mound of his dead subjects. 

McCree wasn't worth much, he had never been worth more than what he could do with his wits and a gun. Now he was only alive because a dragon thought he could be useful. This dragon, a mythical creature, powerful beyond anything McCree could have imagined, thought McCree could be useful.

Another little twist in his gut. Disappointment and unfamiliar self pity and doubt making him curl a little tighter into himself. He'd only ever carried one regret, he'd carried it for twenty years and that had been all he could bear. Just now though, he wished he could have said something other than the truth.  He put his head back and let his hat fall back over his eyes. 

"Yes," McCree said. He wished that wasn't the truth. "Yes I have."

 

 

* * *

 

The moon had set over the hills above Deadlock Gorge by the time  the riders chasing McCree had become lost and picked off. The fourteen remaining members of his family on their fourteen half wild horses were long gone, the train long past. McCree still had two bullets left in Peacekeeper when he went back to finish off the lawman.

The last man chasing him down had ridden well. He'd tailed McCree like a long dark shadow for over an hour before his horse fell out from under him. McCree had ridden back to find a wiry man with a six pointed star over his heart like a shield, struggling to reach for something in the  panniers . He was pinned under a panicking horse flecked with foam. 

"No luck left in you,  partner." McCree didn't bother getting off his horse. His voice had been lighter then, he had almost always been smiling. He tipped Peacekeeper down towards the man's face and pulled the hammer back with a click. "Anything you want to say before you go?" 

"You're going to hell," the man said it with absolute weary conviction. He spoke so forcefully, so furiously, he could be heard above the screaming of his horse. He'd lost his rifle during the long ride and his hands were empty now. He stopped reaching for the panniers and put his head back against the stone. "You and your damn gang. All of you. Straight to-" 

McCree fired. He'd been told often enough where he was going. 

The echo of the single shot bounced off the hills and came back to him. The  sheriff's horse was still dying, run past exhaustion and maybe worse, maybe a broken leg. His horse barely flicked an ear at  its scream. McCree pulled the hammer back and aimed, hesitated, then fired again. 

Once the echoes came back to die, McCree and his little horse were alone under the stars. 

 

* * *

"Two hours." 

Luico's voice startled McCree out of his doze. He woke with the taste of dust in his mouth and sat up. The heel of his left hand burned so excruciatingly he couldn't breath for a second. Three stab wounds in his chest meant he shouldn't have moved. Blood on his already ripped shirt meant he should have done something about that earlier. He grunted, subsided, clenched his left hand until he felt nothing, then pushed the brim of his hat up with one finger far enough to see Lucio standing with his arms held out in a gesture of absolute confusion. 

"Two hours," Lucio said again, glaring up at the porch roof. Hanzo must be up there. Lucio then stared at McCree. "Tops. I was gone for so little time and I come back to..." 

He gestured with his arms out again, absolute confusion and disgust. 

"What, you carrying carpets?" McCree sounded a little breathless but he grinned, relieved to see Lucio whole and safe and annoyed at them. He briefly mimicked Lucio's helpless gesture with both arms, and winced before he closed back in on himself and held his chest. "Sorry we didn't wait until you got back to get this underway. You think you could..." McCree spoke through his teeth then paused, unsure of the language. 

"Heal me," Hanzo growled. He was on the roof, right above McCree. 

"That, please," McCree said  weakly. "I need a doctor." 

"Unreal," Lucio muttered. "You,"  he stabbed a finger up at  Hanzo, "get down from there, I need line of sight you miserable archer. And you, what the hell happened?" 

"Archer?" McCree muttered, unsure about the term as relating to a dragon and not really caring at the moment. He eased himself to one side, giving Lucio space to sit down next to him. "Glad to see you're alright." 

Lucio just grunted darkly and made a gesture with his left hand, a sliding motion and this time McCree was watching for it, and caught the change in light on Lucio's fingertips, green to yellow. He thought he saw of glimmer of light under Lucio's feet but at the same moment his curiosity was piqued, a warm gust of healing music washed over him, and he subsided with a grateful little whimper. 

"So," Lucio said a moment later. 

“We were swarmed," McCree said with his eyes closed. He pulled his hat off and held it in his hands to prevent himself from dozing off again. 

"The scouts." 

Hanzo's voice was closer than McCree was expecting, and he  jumped slightly, tightening muscles that were too stiff and beaten to move. He grunted in pain and closed in on himself again protectively.

When he blinked up, both Hanzo and Lucio were watching him. Lucio with some look of alarm, and Hanzo just staring with his red eyes unblinking. He was standing with his head bowed to fit under the porch roof, and his long body arched up and around the cabin. He was at head height to Lucio and McCree, but as McCree watched, Hanzo shifted. No sound of scales on scales, and McCree tensed initially, expecting the noise, expecting the reaction in his gut, but Hanzo didn't look at him as he silently redistributed the long coils of his body as he lay down. 

"Hanzo flew me up after a  time."  McCree realized he was rubbing the heel of his cold left hand with his right. He stopped himself. Hanzo was moving with perfectly polite silence, even if he was encircling McCree and Lucio in one long curve of his flank, like a prison warden. "And I made the shot." 

"The shot.  _ The _ . I see a couple hundred assorted barnyard beasts out there in different stages of burned to a crisp and you say you made one shot." Lucio gestured past the thick coil of Hanzo's blue scaled body. They couldn't see past him, but McCree shifted uneasily. He felt uncomfortably constrained with Hanzo wrapped around him like this, like he was on the verge of being crushed. 

"It's all one shot to  me."  McCree had never explained how he made the shot work and he wasn't starting now. "It worked." 

"I'm gonna need you to say more than that," Lucio said pleasantly. "I'm gonna need an explanation. Why is there blood on your face?"

Something touched his cheek and McCree jerked back and reached up instinctively with a bitten off curse that had been startled out of the ruder part of his lexicon. He knocked Lucio's hand aside more roughly than he'd meant to. He'd used his left hand. They stared at one another. 

"You've got blood on your face," Lucio said, more patiently, not backing down. "And it's yours. You can't tell me it isn't."  

McCree wasn't even listening to Lucio. He was hyper aware of Hanzo surrounding them both, like a boa before it contracts. He was aware of Hanzo the same way  he would  be aware of any other predator that chose to get close and he'd just seen Hanzo's scales ruck up. There was some line of muscle under the angled scales that had gone tense. Hanzo growled, so low that McCree could feel it more than hear. 

McCree immediately swallowed hard and forced himself to hold still. Peacekeeper was a reassuring weight at his side, and he forced himself not to think about years of instinct directing him to take his gun, take aim, defend himself... Lucio's voice cut off his thoughts abruptly. 

"He's bleeding from his right eye," Lucio snapped over his shoulder, his anger seemed incongruent. He was glaring at Hanzo, and McCree had no idea why. Hanzo curled his lip in a low snarl, but Lucio was ignoring him, already turning back to McCree. "How'd that happen? Do you want my help or don't you." 

"I need healin'," McCree admitted, he sighed, still sitting stiffly as Lucio turned his face in both hands. McCree didn't like to think of it, but no one had touched his skin in a long time. He kept very still as Lucio studied him. 

"So, what happened?" Lucio released him with a shrug, and sat back, still turned to McCree looking bright and alert. 

"Swarmed, fought a while on the ground, then that wasn't  working." McCree rubbed the side of his chest where  already he could feel a change in the quality of pain there. Lucio's music was warm inside him, even though it came from nowhere McCree could identify. "We got jumped on, looked bad and getting  worse. Han zo told me to get on his back and he carried me up above them." 

Hanzo's scales clicked very occasionally as they settled smoothly over his tense flank again. His skin was going from broken glass to fine silk again. McCree watched the line of tension in Hanzo's flank ease as the scales lost their edges and turned smooth again.

"Hanzo," Lucio was watching him, studiously ignoring Hanzo's face behind  him, "le t you ride him?" 

The line of tension in Hanzo's flank was back. 

McCree was suddenly and horrifically reminded of mistaking Hanzo for a horse. That hadn't seemed real, a mistake so stupid you refused to believe  you had made it. "Yeah, had to tell me twice actually. I..." He trailed off. His neck was hot with embarrassment. The memory of clinging to the dragon as it soared up and around, lithe and powerful, and McCree had been the one to ruin it. 

"Asked you  twice, huh.” L ucio slowly turned his head to look at Hanzo. His  face was mostly turned away, and the quick glance at it McCree spared wasn't enough to interpret the expression. "Twice. To ride him." 

There was a low noise that vibrated the porch boards under them. 

"I had a clear shot from up there," McCree said defensively. He was uncertain just how rare riding a dragon was and who he'd offended by actually doing as Hanzo had asked. He wanted to get out of the conversation as fast as possible. "So I killed the swarm and we came back down." 

"All of  them." Lucio was business again. The smirk in his voice, if that's what it had been, was gone. "All at once?" 

McCree shrugged. "I'm not sure what you think you brought here, but you got, and I cannot stress this enough, a monster hunter." 

Lucio blinked at him. Then  made gave a little one shouldered shrug. Hanzo looked back out at the clearing. 

"A  hunter, h uh. You killed them all with one shot, the same shot?" Lucio's face was carefully bland, and McCree watched him, aware that there was an answer Lucio wanted to invite McCree to provide without actually asking the question. 

"Not the same..." McCree scowled again, not even his family had asked him to explain this. "The action of a shot. It's the same intention. Whether I pull the trigger to kill one thing, or pull the trigger to kill everything, it's the same action." 

Lucio's eyes flicked away, maybe thinking of something else, maybe trying to find a few more words to tease another answer out of McCree. "Alright, so everything you see?" 

"Everything I can see, and in my line of sight," McCree  hedged. "It  ain't all powerful. It can't kill everything, it just narrows the world down, makes it simple, and pulls the trigger as often as it needs to." 

"You make it sound like it's not you doing to killing," Lucio said. 

McCree swallowed, and didn't answer him. He found he liked Lucio, it was easy to like the honest young man with the easy smile and the handsome face who carried music all around him. He was surprised and unhappy to discover he didn't want Lucio to dislike him. He didn't want Lucio afraid of him. 

"It's me," McCree said, and wasn't sure if that was true, or if that was more or less reassuring. 

"You didn't shoot Hanzo," Lucio remarked, a moment after the silence became awkward. 

McCree, still tense with the knowledge of being surrounded by Hanzo and on uncertain footing with Lucio and with three stab wounds healing in his chest blinked at Lucio in total bemusement. 

"Sure," McCree managed after Lucio didn't clarify. "I don't kill... I can't..." He struggled for a word that could describe Hanzo and for a few horrible moments, none of them made a sound. McCree stared at Lucio with his mouth open, Lucio gazed back at him with perfect composure and Hanzo rested his head on a fold of his long body and pretended to ignore him.

"I can't kill my partner," McCree heard himself say. Apparently his mouth, capable of running without any sensible input from his labouring brain, supplied noises it thought were appropriate. With no thought to consequence. 

Lucio just blinked at him. "You telling me your aim is  selective," he said. "Selectively killing... what, things that are hostile to you?" 

McCree, still rattled and trying not to look at Hanzo to see if a term like 'partner' was going to go over worse than literally spurring him around while riding on his back, looked at Lucio. "Ain't never thought of  it,”  McCree said flatly. "It's called a Dead Eye shot and it kills as long as I need things to die. It can't kill what I won't. That enough?" 

Lucio shrugged. "Just saying. Goes towards your cred as a man that won't kill every monster he meets." 

McCree opened his mouth, didn't know what he wanted to say and shut his mouth before it could start talking on  its own authority. Something made him glance at Hanzo. 

The dragon was still lying as he had been, but his mane was quite still, and his eyes were shut. The line of tension was back in the long length of  its body. While McCree was still looking at him, noticing the new scales that had grown in over the fresh wounds, the notch in his ear that had healed to a scared little nick, the pearly smoothness of the scales and the velvet softness of the fur, Hanzo blinked open his red eyes, and caught McCree's gaze. 

"We need to break into Shimada Castle," Lucio said. 

He spoke quietly, but McCree and Hanzo both looked at him, and away from each other, with a startled panic that was only partially due to what he'd said. 

Lucio was sitting comfortably sprawled with his heels against the wood of the porch floor and his arms on his bent knees. He and McCree sat somewhat similarly, though Lucio seemed on the verge of dancing where he sat, and McCree knew from experience that he could sit still like this all goddamn day. Hanzo curled around them  poised and composed and his mane snapped around as he looked at Lucio before flowing back into place. 

"That's the big place with the hellish, burning fire bug the size of a train taking up residence? You want to go there?  On purpose?" McCree was returning some rhetorical questions and invitations for answers. He hoped Lucio enjoyed the turn about. 

"You want to stage a battle in my home?" Hanzo growled, more succinct and possibly more germain. "With Ōmukade in my main hall?" 

" Nah." L ucio looked between them. "While you two were being taken on by what looks like every single scout in Ōmukade's hoard, I was doing some scouting of my own. There's food and water being brought to the castle. People are being used to ferry supplies in, guarded by scouts. The Ōmukade doesn't eat the food being brought, and doesn't '  drink, and that means that the folk from town ain't dead. They're being kept." 

Hanzo had perked up, his ears pricked forwards and his mane softly waving. McCree looked politely between them. 

"How many?" Hanzo asked. 

Lucio shrugged. "Not everyone, no way after all this time everyone's survived. But they're there." 

"The tunnels could have been blocked up and used as holding," Hanzo growled,  as he tipped his head in thought. The gesture was bizarrely human and McCree  stared . 

"And the lower halls, the basement," Lucio cocked an eyebrow at Hanzo, "Dungeons."

"They're not dungeons," Hanzo replied  crisply; it so unded like an automatic response.

"Hmm,  well." L ucio rolled his eyes and McCree had to break into this conversation because it was getting too specific to keep up with. 

"How do you know," McCree said. 

Both Lucio and Hanzo stared at him. 

"How do you know the people are getting food and water? How do you know only some survived," McCree cocked his head and ignored Hanzo for now.

"I told you, I scouted," Lucio lied. 

“ Scouted.” M cCree took a breath and let it out slowly. Lucio was a good liar, pleasant and matter of fact and the lie wasn't outrageous. But it wasn't true either. For an easy going man with a nice smile and magic in his bones, McCree was beginning to suspect he was a surprisingly adept secret keeper.

McCree suddenly remembered that he and Lucio were alike in that they had been chosen by a dragon for a skill a dragon couldn't perform. And Lucio had been doing his role as a favoured to a powerful, mythical creature a lot longer than McCree. Lucio was very likely  an adept at many things McCree couldn't suspect him of yet. He had to wonder how many secrets Lucio was keeping from Hanzo. 

"Like hell," McCree said quietly. "You want to tell me what's really going on?" 

Hanzo's mane flared out briefly, but it didn't look aggressive or upset, and McCree took that as an invitation to keep ignoring him. Lucio didn't have any tell McCree could see, just as open  and amiable as he always was, but his voice gave him away. He spoke lightly when he lied, used that tone McCree knew well. 

"I can see my allies," Lucio shrugged, "even far away, I counted them."

Hanzo's mane rucked up. "You can see the town's folk? You never could before."

"You didn't think to do that earlier?" McCree asked, talking over Hanzo.

"I only just got here," Lucio replied to McCree and ignored Hanzo with a shrug. Easy voice, easy movements, a good liar that wasn't rising to McCree's cross examination. "Genji stashed me back home before this really started." 

Hanzo hissed briefly. His scales went up slightly and McCree looked around at him in mild alarm. Unthinkingly, he reached a hand out towards Hanzo, then stopped himself, uncertain what he was actually thinking he could even do. Settle Hanzo like a flighty horse? Pat his head to  soothe him? He  lowered his hand.  

"Genji was Hanzo's brother," Lucio said to McCree, taking his turn ignoring Hanzo.  "He died when Hanzo disagreed with him about-" 

Hanzo snarled, cutting over Lucio's words and McCree looked at Hanzo and found him glaring at Lucio with something like fury. It was odd, seeing that expression aimed at someone else. It was horrible to see it aimed at Lucio. 

"I ain't your favoured," Lucio snapped out at Hanzo without a shred of hesitation or fear in him. "I'm just doing you a favour. I'm helping McCree clear the castle so I can go home. To Rio. Because there's nothing left for me here-- you made sure of that." 

Hanzo tensed, teeth showing white as he opened his mouth and McCree wanted to step between them, but hesitated, unwilling to get any closer to Hanzo. His heart was beating too hard and the scars on his shoulder and side felt fresh suddenly. He was aware of Hanzo encircling them like a warden. He had no idea what he could say to take this conversation back. 

A second later, the conversation was well outside of his control. 

"We wouldn't even be having this problem if Genji was here," Lucio's voice was light, force casual. "You killed the real answer to this problem..." 

Hanzo's eyes went wide, his mane went up, the length of his body tensed up and he gave a short sharp bark of a roar as he lunged into the shade of the porch towards Lucio. Too big, too fast, huge white teeth and a snarl and McCree reacted before he realized what he was doing. 

"Enough," McCree heard his own voice crack out loud and angry. A second later felt a heavy impact on his chest that knocked him back a step and forced the air from his lungs. His hands slid over smooth fur and fine scales until he found a grip and held on. 

Hanzo froze. Behind him, McCree could hear Lucio panting, anger or fear, McCree couldn't tell. McCree could feel his own heart thudding at a panic fast pace. He couldn’t breathe. 

McCree was staring at bright gold fur, close enough he could bury his face in it. He was standing with Hanzo's huge head in his arms, one hand on Hanzo's ear, the other fisted in the gold fur of his mane. 

"Oh, hell," McCree breathed. 

Hanzo's huge muzzle was pushed under his right arm, had been about to bully past him when he'd frozen. McCree stared down at the short, delicate golden antlers, Hanzo's ears were shaped a little like a deer’s, the fur of his mane was soft and warm and so thick McCree felt cruel to be holding it so tightly. The muzzle under his arm was snarling. The huge teeth were pressed against McCree's side. 

"Hanzo," McCree heard his own voice shaking as he tried to keep his voice pitched low, tried to keep himself still, tried not to panic. 

He realized that he’d never addressed Hanzo by name until now. Right now, with the dragon’s head in his arms.  

Hanzo 's abruptly relaxed his snarl, teeth covered and warm fur on his side and McCree shuddered with relief. He wasn't sure when it had happened but Hanzo's scales weren't broken glass anymore, his skin was back to smooth and fine. 

"My apologies," Hanzo said. His voice was very quiet. 

His mouth moved against McCree's side and pulled back slightly, Hanzo moved with wracked, careful deliberation. 

McCree's chest shook as he let out his next breath, the hair on the back of his neck had gone up. He hadn't thought he could get to his feet and get between Hanzo and Lucio, hadn't really thought he'd need to. He didn't remember getting up or catching Hanzo's head as it charged towards him but clearly all of that had happened and somehow McCree was still alive. 

"Apologies, to both of  you.” H anzo drew back a little further. 

McCree's left hand was around the base of Hanzo's right ear, and he gently let Hanzo slide away from him. His right hand was more reluctant to let go of Hanzo's mane, and before he could correct himself and open his hand, Hanzo pulled away, and the gold fur combed itself out from between his fingers. 

McCree swallowed hard and pulled his hands back. Hanzo kept his head down, his eyes shadowed as he pulled back and tucked his talons up in an oddly self conscious gesture. 

"Don't talk of Genji here," Hanzo growled. "Not with-" 

"Genji was my friend," Lucio said. He sounded shaken, but just as angry as before. "And you're the one that fought him to his-" 

McCree heel kicked him, a hard tap to shut Lucio up and he kept his place between them through a force of will he didn’t think he had in him. He didn't dare touch Hanzo, but he still stupidly reached one hand out to him before turning to look at Lucio. 

“Just explain,” McCree said. His chest was tight with left over adrenaline but he kept his voice calmer than he felt. “Why do you think we can take the castle?”

"Hanzo can draw Ōmukade off," Lucio said, his voice still a little shaken, but as amiable as it had been before he began speaking of Hanzo's dead brother. "Ōmukade wants Hanzo dead and  its strong enough to kill him now. We can go in while he's looking for you." 

Hanzo let out a breath and McCree relaxed a little. He felt like an idiot for standing between a dragon and someone picking a fight with it. He'd extended his right hand a little further towards Hanzo without meaning to, and was grateful Hanzo hadn't seemed to notice.

"Hanzo, if you fly up and attack it at range, fly off and it'll chase you. It can't fly," Lucio went on. He'd been thinking about this. 

"And when I have to land?" Hanzo asked with some acid in his tone. 

Does not like discussing his limitations, McCree noted, and Lucio went on. 

"Launch the guardians, drop into the forest and go small, and then run back to us. The Ōmukade should chase the guardians and not you, and by then, McCree and I can open the gates and get inside, you can join us before we start getting people out. We'll need you to convince them to risk leaving." 

"You're taking a few things for granted here," McCree murmured. Lucio was taking McCree knowing what the hell he was talking about for granted, but that could wait. If this plan worked, McCree and Lucio would be working alone for a good piece and McCree had some questions.

Lucio just shrugged. “I can explain,” he said simply. “But that’ll take time.” His eyes flicked to Hanzo for one instant. 

The briefness of that little glance was telling. McCree hesitated, his own long experience of working alone warring with the unfamiliar confidence in Lucio. He barely nodded, and the tension eased out of Lucio’s shoulders. 

"You both know better than  me."  McCree looked around at Hanzo, who was holding as still as McCree had seen him, his mane drawn back, ears pinned flat. His body was arched up and curled around them with the scales up at odd angles, though not like broken glass, more like a dog with  its fur dragged up the wrong way. "Will that work?" 

Hanzo didn’t reply for a moment, but silently tipped his head a little. It was such a human gesture that  McCree blinked at him. 

"Hanzo," McCree prompted. The name was already surprisingly familiar in his mouth. 

It must have startled Hanzo as well, since the dragon looked up at him, and his edges softened slightly.

"Will breaking into the castle work if we follow what Lucio says?" McCree asked. 

"Yes," Hanzo said and let out a long breath. Some of the tension in his sides eased. "If the Ōmukade follows the guardians, the ghosts you saw today,"  he added, apparently seeing McCree's confusion. "The dragons I summon. If he follows them, he could run a long time. More than enough time to break in, and Lucio knows the castle well." 

"I lived there," Lucio  clarified. "W ith Genji and the others, before Ōmukade came." 

" Others.” M cCree made another mental note to ask a few more question at another time. There were six beds inside the cabin, if Hanzo’s brother Genji had slept on the roof, did that mean that five others like Lucio were in the castle? 

Hanzo shook his head and the soft, waving mane was enough to break McCree out of his slightly worrying train of thought. McCree watched the gold fur moving, and took a breath that didn't feel too laboured. Then realized Hanzo was looking at him with those flat red eyes and he straightened his spine and turned back to Lucio. 

"You can get us inside?" 

"There'll be guards, scouts. More of those," Lucio flicked his head towards the field of dead  chitin and ash. "You gotta keep them off me, I'll do what I can to help and keep you breathing, we can move fast if you're not hurt." 

"And Hanzo?" McCree looked speculatively over the long blue body, the gold crest and mane, the little gold antlers. His gaze lingered on the wide flanks, taught with muscle under the scales. "He's not... You're not the most... Subtle." 

Lucio snorted. 

After a frigid moment of silence, Hanzo deigned to respond. "I can be."

Lucio barked out a laugh, opened his mouth and raised one finger, then shook his head and dropped whatever retort he had in mind. Hanzo just glared at him, his mane going up. 

McCree looked between Hanzo and Lucio in bemusement and shrugged. He had no idea how long these two had known each other but he didn't care to catch up on their back catalogue of inside jibes and teasing. 

"Alright," McCree plowed on  resolutely. " When?" 

"Sunset," Lucio said.

" Fine." H anzo shook his mane out briefly. "Sunset. We need to leave here though." 

“Dropped a damn slaughterhouse on my cabin,” Lucio muttered. He jumped smoothly to his feet. The energy in that one motion made McCree feel old. He glided a little off from them towards the doors. “I’m packing.” 

McCree let the last of the tension drain out of his shoulders as he and Hanzo  watched Lucio duck inside the cabin. He was still catching his breath, but his chest didn’t feel so tight. He realized he still had his right hand stupidly stretched out towards Hanzo and began easing it down. 

Something broad and solid and softly furred pressed up into his palm suddenly, and McCree froze, his gut tightening. His fingers twitched  against short, warm fur and McCree shut his eyes, his back straight. 

“I am  sorry.”  Hanzo’s voice was still low. 

“Didn’t  hurt.” M cCree forced himself to turn his head, and open his eyes. 

Hanzo was pressing his nose into the palm of McCree’s hand, his face shadowed in the dimness of the porch. He was oddly still, the mane and whiskers unmoving, and McCree stopped himself before he began petting the fur over Hanzo’s muzzle. 

“You didn’t hurt  me.”  McCree let out the breath he’d been holding. He let his arm relax a little against Hanzo. 

Hanzo tipped his head up, pressing up a little more into McCree’s open hand. 

“You didn’t draw your gun,” Hanzo said. 

Peacekeeper was still a safe weight at his side, balancing him in a way he had learned to think of as safety. He hadn’t drawn his gun. 

“Didn’t occur to  me.”  McCree realized. His well trained hands had gone to catch Hanzo’s head instead of shoot at him. 

“You would have had time,” Hanzo’s voice was soft. “I didn’t realize how fast you were. I only saw this morning, when you shot the first scout.” 

“Sorry about  that.” Mc Cree remembered that moment with a lurch in his gut. The visceral dread of nearly shooting Hanzo again came back to him. 

“You didn’t hurt me.” 

Hanzo’s voice was softer than McCree had ever heard it. His heart skipped a beat and he swallowed around an unfamiliar heat in his chest. 

For a long moment, McCree didn’t move, then he very slowly stroked his right hand over Hanzo’s muzzle, and settled on the soft V where the gold fur grew short, and was replaced by tiny, pearly blue scales. It had been a long time since he’d touched someone outside of a fight. It had been a long time since he’d worried about being too rough on someone. A long time since he desperately wanted not to be feared. 

A long, long time since he’d been this scared of anything. 

Hanzo stayed very still as McCree rubbed the tips of his fingers over the fur where the scales began. Neither of them moved away from each other. Twenty five years of fast talking his way through everything and anything, and McCree didn’t have a damn thing to say. His gaze went up from his hand though, and managed to look squarely at the fine scales between Hanzo’s eyes. The colour was off, and the edges of the scales that hadn’t been blown off were a little ragged. A shame, McCree thought again, shame to make an enemy of a creature like this. 

But maybe he hadn’t. 

“ Hanzo.”  McCree heard himself speaking, his mouth running on without him, and he barely managed to stop himself from saying more. 

Hanzo was watching him, his eyes shadowed in the dim light under the porch, more gold than red. McCree blinked, opened his mouth without anything to say. 

One of Hanzo's whiskers touched his side. 

McCree blinked, realized he was stroking his hand across Hanzo’s muzzle towards his cheek, and froze. He remembered treating Hanzo like a horse, a mount he could aim with his seat and legs and by tipping his head. He remembered Hanzo's jaws clamping shut over his arm. He could remember the moment Hanzo's size became apparent to McCree for the first time, the moment McCree knew he was going to die. He snapped his hand back without looking at Hanzo and held his breath. 

The gentle pressure of Hanzo's whisker on his side flicked away abruptly. 

"Look at this  team.” 

McCree looked around, hadn’t heard the cabin doors open, but Lucio was standing in the open doorway, looking between McCree and Hanzo with his head to one side and his arms crossed. He smirked at McCree with one eyebrow up. 

"We're gonna do great." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed!!  
> Thank you to the amazing [emotionalmorphine](http://emotionalmorphine.tumblr.com) for beta reading this at breathtaking speed I am humbled. <3   
> Next chapter will be posted Dec 6, as my usual biweekly posting will be disrupted by a boat that I am working on being launched and we're anticipating at least 80,500 things to need more time. If I can post earlier I'll drop it in as soon as I can!   
> I'm on [Tumblr](http://leoandlancer.tumblr.com) if you want some sweet sweet Overwatch fanart reblogs~ ( ๑‾̀◡‾́)σ»


	6. Turns Out You Can Go Home...

They left the cabin after Lucio dropped a few bags on the porch, and actually locked the door behind him.

"Damn,” Lucio muttered as he stepped back from the doors. He looked like a man already homesick. McCree could sympathize. 

The cabin was lovely enough, and if Hanzo was right, Lucio would have lived here happily with at least five others and a friendly dragon for a good part of his time here. The marks on the walls told a story, now that McCree had some context; a bullseye with a few scorch marks and throwing stars in the centre, a place on the wall by the door with writing in three different languages. There was a deck of cards on one table, a map of an unimaginably huge city pinned to a wall with throwing stars, some books in three languages stacked on the windowsills.

McCree wished they had had the time or the forethought to try and lead the hoard of scouts away. As it was, the dead  animals formed drifts of ash and gore in the clearing around them. It was too much for anyone to deal with. Too much to do anything but hope it didn't happen again.

“Sorry about  that.”  McCree rubbed the back of his neck. His right eye still ached a  little and there was still blood in his beard. When he’d put his coat back on, he’d tried to have as few holes, rips, and missing chunks overlapping as possible. It wasn’t easy. 

Lucio just shrugged and held one of the bags he’d packed out to McCree, who took it and swung it into place on his shoulder. 

Hanzo just watched them, careful in how he moved when he readily accepted the largest bag Lucio had packed. He held it in both front claws, tucked up to his belly. McCree hadn't expected him to carry anything.

They left the cabin and its defiled clearing, and McCree followed Lucio and Hanzo into the woods, heading up the mountainside. There was a trail, of sorts, it was cut roughly over rocks and rushing streams. It stopped cold at times, only to start ten or twenty feet uphill and to the side, the passage marked by a rough cut through the boughs of the trees overhead. It was clearly not made for traveling on foot. 

McCree swore with a snarl as he attempted his fourth running jump to climb up a rock face, and was panting when finally heaved himself up over the latest obstacle. He swore as he dusted himself off, found his feet, and hiked on and up.

Ahead and above him, Hanzo glided through the high cut trail as calmly as a watersnake and about as  quietly. L ucio skated just under and beside him, passing over rough outcrops and up the sides of rock faces and the trunks of trees without hesitation. They both moved so easily, weightless and graceful, they were able to talk quietly. 

Whatever they were discussing, it looked like an argument, but unlike their other arguments, this one seemed one sided. Hanzo kept his head tipped  down , his whiskers trailing, Lucio nodding up at him, emphatic and  bombastic, gesturing  to the unseen valley behind the trees, back down the trail at McCree, pointing ahead of them. He was so sure of himself. 

Neither of them seemed to notice McCree struggling after them. McCree stared up at the two of them, catching his breath and thinking about his retirement to a life of bank robbing. He really,  _ really  _ wished he hadn't made a disaster of riding on Hanzo's back. He would have given a lot not to have to deal with this trail. He hung his head and swore softly with vitriolic and familiar self-loathing. He had always been the worst thing to happen to him.

Lucio was waiting for him when McCree struggled up the next rise. It was beyond irritating that he was having to climb trees to reach the high ground that Lucio was casually gliding up to and Hanzo was flying quietly over. It was infuriating that they had to wait for him.

"Need a hand?" Lucio didn't sound unsympathetic, though Hanzo seemed to be ignoring  him from twenty feet above the trail and a way a head of them.

"Finished talkin’ to Hanzo? I’m alright, I appreciate what you're doing already," McCree managed. He had noticed that the green light under Lucio's feet and inside his left hand made moving faster  and easier as long as Lucio was close by.  

"Bit  further."  Lucio skated back a few lazy feet, encouraging McCree  on. "Not far before we’re done climbing. Gets easier once we reach the pool. Then it’s only an hour to the caves.

"Caves," McCree murmured, taking a breath and letting it out slowly. Caves. So that changed things. 

“Safest place now, old underground river  tunnels.” Lucio struggled, helping McCree up the next outcropping. “There’s an underground  lake. It’s huge. It’s always where the  dragons fall back to.” 

“You don’t say,” McCree said as idly as he could  manage. He wiped cold sweat off his face with one hand. Hiding his face behind his hand and his hat brim helped, just a little.

Caves. The thought was enough that McCree found himself already planning an out. Already thinking ahead, planning and rationalizing and finding reasons, finding answers. Abruptly, the order of events as McCree had planned them reshuffled in his mind. He had to take a risk now, early and important. He swallowed hard and pushed his hat a little harder onto his  head and followed Lucio further upwards.  The path grew no easier the higher they climbed, and McCree wondered who the hell else Hanzo's brother had recruited if this trail had been easy for them to travel. 

And how the hell did Hanzo think McCree could equal them. 

"Bit further," Lucio said. He was switchbacking his way backwards up a sixty degree rocky slope. It looked effortless.

McCree swore at him, huffed out another breath and kept climbing.

"Thanks," Lucio said quietly a few moments of hard climb later. "And sorry."

McCree looked at him and waited. He wasn't sure what Lucio had to apologize for but he appreciated that he could pause in his  ascent.

"You didn't need to jump in front of Hanzo like that," Lucio  clarified.  "Hanzo wouldn’t hurt me. It's part of being favoured, we're on the same team technically. You couldn't have known."

"Oh." McCree thought of his body moving on  its own. So sure that Hanzo was... what? Going to bite Lucio in two? Crush him against the side of the cabin? Looking back on it, and with Lucio's sheepish and totally unexpected apology in his mind, he felt foolish. "Thought for sure you were a goner, I guess." He put his head down and started climbing again.

"Yeah, it's... Not easy with Hanzo. I didn't think, I'm not used to folks joining us without..." Lucio hesitated, then looked up the hill towards where Hanzo swam serenely up between the trees. "We all knew Genji before he invited us here to stay. It was different with him. You're the only person I've heard of that wasn't good friends with their dragon before they were favoured."

"Hanzo said he doesn't have  favoured ," McCree said. 

"He has you," Lucio said with perfect calm. "You're favoured."

"You sure?" McCree thought about the glare of pure outrage when McCree had been so stupid as to try and ride Hanzo like a horse. He thought of lying on his back on the bridge feeling his life drain away from him and the huge dragon snarling down at him with his bright red hatred.

Thought of Hanzo going stock still with McCree's arms around his head. Thought of Hanzo hastily dropping his snarl when McCree said his name. McCree's right hand was still warm with the memory of Hanzo's mane.

"You're not?" Lucio skated up a rocky embankment and waited at the top to help McCree up and over.

McCree had been right, Lucio was a lot stronger than he looked. 

"Honestly,” Lucio went on, “I don't know Hanzo well. Genji's my best friend, and he's a thoughtless idiot most of the time."

McCree looked at him sharply, and carefully documented that sentence away for future consideration.

"But Hanzo keeps to himself,” Lucio  continued . “He's a tactician, but never had to deal with people one on  one. That was more Genji's thing."

"Can't tell which one of us is the bigger disappointment to the other," McCree muttered. "Hanzo or I."

Lucio smacked the back of his head and McCree barely caught his hat as it was knocked off his head.

"No call for that," McCree muttered.

"Just get ready to admit I was right. That’s an essential skill around  here."  Lucio skated  on.  "Thank you for covering for me. I can't keep picking fights with Hanzo."

"He must really have you riled.” McCree watched Lucio for his  answer.

Lucio shrugged. "Genji's my best friend," he said simply.

McCree looked ahead of them, at the long length of Hanzo's body. He tried to imagine making friends with a dragon, and wondered how much he'd give for that chance.

Thankfully, Lucio hadn’t been lying when he’d said it wasn’t far before the trail flattened out. It was a few dark minutes of struggling upwards, then McCree’s eyes were drawn irresistibly up. Ahead of him, he saw Hanzo shake himself, arching up and out of the trees as the trail opened up, the hill leveling out above him into a bowl of sunshine and the noise of crashing water.

They reached the gap in the trees and McCree huffed out a long breath as he looked around. Hanzo was a long, glimmering blue and gold shape over a wide pool at the foot of a rocky waterfall. The ground around the pool was a bolt of thick, soft, bright green moss and the water poured away from the pool in a shallow brook that plunged and leapt down the mountainside between the trees. The sun was up but hadn't burned away the mist from between the trees and made Hanzo soft and indistinct, more like a god  again-- carrying a duffle bag.

Hanzo looked around when they came out from the trail, gazing down at them and looking unconcerned that McCree was a  sweaty, furious mess under his hat brim.

"I hate this trail," McCree growled.

"Yeah  we, uh," Lucio cleared his throat a little self- consciously, "we never thought about it from the perspective of someone who can't even..."

McCree snapped one finger up and glared at Lucio from the shade of his hat brim,  eyes bright and dangerous. "Choose your words carefully."

Lucio hesitated for a beat, his eyes locked on  McCree’s . Then he smiled brightly. "Someone with a normal walking gait.” 

"Good  recovery."  McCree managed to straighten up a little. Does not like discussing my own damn limitations, McCree thought sourly. I wonder what else Hanzo and I have in common? "Where are we?"  he added aloud.

"Plunge  pool."  Lucio shrugged. "Most of the lakes and ponds around Hanamura were guarded by scouts but this one's so close to the castle, it was kind of overlooked. It's where Hanzo came out from your world."

McCree waited for that to make sense, studying  at the bright green moss at the water’s edge, the white bands of waves hurrying across the surface from the waterfall, the low mist over the grey water. Then looked at Lucio. "The hell," he said expectantly.

" Hanzo and Genji use them  to, uh..." Lucio cut a glance at Hanzo, who was ignoring them both and had his mane rucked up. "The dragons use them to travel from here to where you were, or to where I go. Or to... anywhere."

"Not anywhere," Hanzo clarified shortly, clearly not ignoring them as much as he would have liked to seem.

"Basically anywhere," Lucio said pleasantly.

" No." Hanzo huffed, his mane was well up now and his scales clicked a few times as they raised.

Like a pinecone, McCree reflected as he looked at the sharp edges of the blue scales, after a forest fire. He added a mental tick to the tally in his head of the infrequent slip ups Lucio was making.

"Only some places," Hanzo clarified with bad grace. "And only sometimes."

Very much does not like discussing his limitations, McCree was reminded. He huffed out another breath and sympathized.

"Some places, some times," McCree murmured. He was staring at the water, and thinking about the flaw in Lucio's plan to take the castle back that he wasn't sure he ought to bring up. He was thinking about the shy little hope that had made him take this job in the first place. He thought of caves and playing his plans out of order and the risk of suggesting what he had in  mind.

"So, I don't want to start discourse for a third time this  morning."  McCree took a  breath, thought  of the  risk, and shut his eyes and kept talking. "When we jailbreak the folks from town out of the castle, where exactly are we putting them?"

Silence fell. The rattle and hush of the stream falling down into the pool was the only sound in the clearing. The trees were so tall around them, McCree felt like he was at the bottom of a well. 

Hanzo hung immobile in mid air, his mane perfectly still. Lucio was looking at a point above McCree's head with his brow drawn and his mouth a little open.

"Hm," Lucio said, shutting his mouth.

Hanzo let out a long breath and shook his mane out.

"It's a hostage thing, ain't it? They can't just go on back home. They'll get scooped up again, right?" McCree could play dumb pretty well. Most people didn't take him seriously unless he was trying to kill them and even then sometimes they caught on a little too late. He hoped Hanzo wouldn't notice.

Lucio looked mutely at Hanzo. Hanzo looked back at him, blinked, then turned his long body around to look back at McCree.

"How many people are there?" McCree looked at Lucio, and caught the flicker of uncertainty that Lucio quickly hid. Another precious little mental tick on his tally.

"They're gonna need food, water, places to sleep," Lucio said slowly, and sagged slightly where he stood, the usually energetic young man growing noticeably weary. "Blankets. We need somewhere away from here. Somewhere we can store a couple hundred people if we're lucky and this all works."

Hanzo hissed, his scales were up again and this time McCree knew damn well it wasn't because he was pissed at anyone but himself for not thinking of that earlier.

"Anywhere like that over the mountain?" McCree prompted, leading the conversation on as gently as he could.

Lucio and Hanzo eyed each other.

"Even with most of Team Dive protecting them," Lucio said after a beat, "No way Hanamura folk held in the dungeons--"

"They're not dungeons," Hanzo snapped, cutting in.

"Ok! Held in the  _ luxurious  _ and  _ incredibly  _ comfortable lower basements for months," Lucio went on opening his hands and rocking back on his heels in exasperation. "They're not going to make a run over the mountainside to the Aviary, or even the Sail Loft. I doubt they could make it to the Bunkhouse even if it wasn't heaped in charred corpses." Lucio gestured back the way  they had come.

McCree kept his silence and waited.

"Put them up in Rio," Hanzo growled.

McCree stopped breathing. This had not occurred to him.

"We absolutely will not put several hundred of your people in Rio. Remember yesterday? When you went through Rio at your full size? Let me paint a picture to remind you. You were trailing blood, unable to even fly, barely holding yourself together and..." Lucio started, ticking Hanzo's maladies off on his fingers.

"Enough," Hanzo snarled. This time his teeth showed white and the scales over his back were up in their broken glass edges. Lucio just shrugged at him. 

McCree just  stared .

"Cops are still going to be investigating that," Lucio went on. "Papers are probably still paying for anyone who got a picture of you..."

McCree's attention slipped off Lucio's words. He was staring at Lucio without really seeing him, then before he could stop himself, cut his gaze to one side and looked at Hanzo.

Hanzo was glaring at Lucio, but the long line of tension was clear along his flank. The scales on his sides where McCree had shot him were still slightly paler than the others around them. One ear was still nicked.

_ Barely holding yourself together. _

Guilt was unfamiliar to him after so long with only one consequence to carry. McCree had forgotten what it felt like. He'd forgotten, in the face of his own injuries, how much of the blood on the bridge had been Hanzo's.

"Eichenwald," Hanzo's voice broke through McCree's reflections.

"What?" McCree looked up at him.

"Where?" Lucio asked at the same moment.

Hanzo looked at McCree, and as much as shrugged.

"Where I found Hanzo," McCree replied to  Lucio.  "It's farming country, ostensibly."

"I was looking for a monster hunter," Hanzo said, a little ruffled, "I went to a land known for monsters. We'll go back there."

"Not a bad  plan." McCree looked at the pool. Choosing his words, thinking of dusty red stone under a white hot sun. "Eichenwald  though…”  McCree hesitated. "You'll have to keep one mighty low profile there. Word about you got around."

Hanzo snarled, looking back down into the pool, a coil of his long body running up over his back. The sound of scales on scales made McCree tense, his hands tighten into fists and  his breath stop, but for the first  time McCree realized Hanzo was curling in on himself. Something that McCree would have thought was self consciousness in any other creature. 

" Ok, so somewhere else in the pools," Lucio sounded  exasperated.  "Somewhere, anywhere."

"Flower  Station,"  McCree blurted out, his mouth moving on  its own again, functioning faithfully under an agenda that McCree was desperate to succeed. "Take them to my part of the world. We ain't never heard of anything like  you, H anzo."

"That's understandable. I've never heard of it." Hanzo snorted at McCree.

"Train station town. Little place on the river where the rail line came through." McCree forced himself to keep still, show no tells. He had a good poker face.

"Hotel?" Lucio hazarded. "Train stations have hotels right? Would that be big enough?"

"There's an Opinicon," McCree replied with the most dangerous thing he'd ever said in his life.

Lucio and Hanzo both looked at him and the cool morning air went frigid. Neither of them looked confused or thoughtful or uncertain now. They looked dangerous. 

"I'll go on my own," McCree said, already conciliatory, holding up both hands. Neither Lucio nor Hanzo were going near an Opinicon under their own power and McCree wasn't going to try and force them. "You two won't even need to see the inside of it until I've cleaned it out. It was built to be fortified, it’s got lodging, it's used to big numbers of people. There's food stores, water tanks, weapons, no one goes near it."

McCree keep his heart rate from misbehaving by staring at the waterfall. His right hand clenched and he remembered the warmth and silkiness of Hanzo's mane between his fingers. Lucio and Hanzo said nothing, and McCree pushed his mouth to keep going.

"The hotel in town isn't going to put anyone up for less than the cost of their lodging, even if they have the  space." McCree wasn't thinking of whatever he was saying anymore. His thoughts were running ahead, desperate, quick hopes and contingencies and memories. His mouth was  speaking under  its own authority. "The Opinicon has cash on site, a weapon's cache, horses. If we can take the Opinicon, the Hanamura villagers will have access to everything they need to actually make a run of living in Flower Station until it's safe here."

Lucio was frowning at the pool, his arms crossed tight over his chest. Hanzo was circling just overhead, a long, slow motion that made a ring of his blue and gold body. If McCree dared, he could have reached up to touch Hanzo's talons as he drifted around. The straps of the duffle Lucio had packed swung gently in the air under him.

McCree fought the urge to keep talking, tucked his thumbs into his belt and kept himself still. No tells, poker face.

"And what about the Inquisitors?" Lucio asked. His voice was flat. “The hunters. It’s an order of killers right? A lot of people are not going to want to see what you’d be bringing in.” 

McCree shrugged. "I'm a member of the order. They gotta let me in, and they're no threat to me. They've got lodgings there for hunters." Lodgings there for me, he thought. He could feel the weight of a key on a string around his neck.

"Then what? Tell them you and nearly a thousand villagers with children need a place to stay?" Lucio shook his head.

McCree shrugged, "There's six  Inquisitors . Over fifty hunters when I left but that number will have gone down, and they won’t all be at the Opinicon when we arrive. I'll make nice for a minute, then put them down.” A lie, but McCree was careful when he told it, and it didn’t show. “I won't call you two in until it's safe."

Hanzo and Lucio looked at him, but McCree was watching the waterfall, and kept talking.

"There ain't room for a thousand folks in there," McCree admitted, "But I reckon it's still the best bet, and safest. Between the grounds, the jail, the barracks, the hall, you could get a fair few in there. And the food would last and they could buy more. If they need to run further, the train's in town." McCree shrugged.

Lucio stared at him, then he glanced at Hanzo. They shared a quick look, and a nod that McCree saw only because he was watching everything about Hanzo right now. He saw Hanzo's mane flick up, alarm or surprise. Then Lucio looked back at McCree and he smiled. 

"You'll need help. I'll go with you."

McCree felt the first shard of ice cold panic drop through his chest. For a moment, he didn’t understand what Lucio had said to him. 

"No," McCree heard himself say.

"Like hell you get a vote," Lucio retorted. "You're saying you're ready to kill more than fifty people from your own order? You can't be expected to do that on your own. You’ll need  help.  I'll come and keep you safe, help you out. I know for a fact by now you’ll need a healer." 

This last remark  was said so matter of factly that McCree felt slightly insulted.

"You are absolutely not  going."  McCree caught his balance as the world continued to tilt at the idea of Lucio in an Opinicon. He’d thought of risks but not this one. "You know what they  _ do  _ in Opinicons?"

"Sure. I can get us in  easy."  Lucio was talking fast and looking positive. He didn’t spare even a glance at Hanzo. "Turn me in as an aberration."

"Oh no." More ice-cold dread. McCree had not thought of a disaster like this when he thought of the risks of suggesting this and his mind instantly shrank away from the thought now. Lucio in an Opinicon surrounded by curious Inquisitors and experienced hunters. His world went cold. "I don't need that. We ain't..."

"Where do they keep their  money, McCree ?" Lucio shot the question to him, still smiling. "How do they have access to it? You hand me in for bounty, they'll need to pay you. Anyway, when was the last time you were there? Because if it ain't recent, you showing up without something to show for your work won't mean you get in easy. It'll mean you get watched right? A homecoming. At least if you turn me in, I'll be the centre of attention."

"Now hold  on." McCree felt like this was getting well away from him, he felt like he was being slid sideways over ice. He was not putting Lucio in danger by bringing him to an Opinicon. The Inquisitors were thorough. They liked their jobs. McCree hated them.

"You were planning an outright fight? Kill everyone inside? Like hell. You're good, better than I'd thought, I'll give you that, but there's no way you're going to win against an entire company of hunters and Inquisitors on your own." Lucio shrugged and went on, "It's what we need right? Safe base of operation for the folks from Hanamura. Not a lot of time."

" Hanzo."  McCree turned to the dragon, desperate, cold and needing Hanzo to make Lucio back down, stay where it was safe with Hanzo.

Needed Hanzo to let McCree work alone for a little while.

"Lucio’s not going to an Opinicon alone with you," Hanzo said obligingly, his teeth were showing and his mane was up in heavy spikes.

Lucio shrugged without speaking, still smiling placidly. Then he dropped a wink at McCree.

McCree felt the hair on the back of his neck go up and his gut went cold. He had an instant to realize something terrible was happening when Hanzo's voice yanked him back to current events.

"I will accompany McCree," Hanzo said.

"Oh no, the hell, you will not," McCree managed. His heart was suddenly pounding hot and fast against his cold ribs and his limbs were shaky with the adrenaline. "You will  _ absolutely  _ not." He fought for breath.

"Lucio's right," Hanzo growled. "You need bait for the Inquisitors, other hunters. You want to kill or imprison them all, you'll need help. I need you alive to kill Omukade. You're not going alone into a den of killers, even if it is your home.” 

"Oh,  hell." McCree wiped his face again. “Let’s get one thing  straight, it ain’t my home.”

They weren't wrong, that was the thing. McCree hadn't been to Flower Station in over five years. His going back was going to raise  comment. He had been banking on the fact that hunters spent most of their time in the Opinicons drunk, and there were only six inquisitors, and he was a quick draw with some element of surprise on his side and no one expects to be attacked in their home.

His going back with either Lucio or Hanzo would be easier, and  much, much worse. He thought of blood spattered on red stone. Thought of the spikes and chains and the eager, cruelly delighted hunters and felt sick.

"This was stupid," he said flatly. "I take it back. Listen, I made a goddamn mistake suggesting  it, alright ? We'll find another place." He could find another way to get back what he needed for this. Find some other way. One that didn’t risk Hanzo or Lucio. 

"Fortified land with a reserve of food and water and cash where they'll open the doors to you. Weapons and the room to keep Hanamura safe," Lucio listed off McCree's excellent and carefully chosen points. "It's perfect. Of course we're going."

McCree bit the inside of his cheek hard. He'd been thinking about this. He'd wanted  it. He'd seen something today and he needed to follow up on it there. It would get him out of the goddamn caves. 

But the thought of showing up to the Opinicon with Hanzo, huge and beautiful and otherworldly hanging in the air beside him left him light and hot with panic. He could feel the ground lurching under his feet. He forced the words out in a snarl.

"Bringing either of you to an Opinicon means you could  die,"  McCree managed at last.

"That ain't so different from here, and so could you," Lucio shrugged as he spoke and McCree snapped out his next words over him.

"It means you'll be tortured."

Lucio didn't say anything, but glanced up and around, and McCree saw Lucio catch  Hanzo’s gaze. McCree thought he saw Lucio nod.

Hanzo gave a low growl, watching Lucio as he breathed out in one short huff of irritation. "We're going."

"Oh  hell."  McCree growled. He shook his head and ducked down into the privacy under the brim. Whatever Lucio had in mind, it wasn't going to be worth it. Nothing was worth the risk of what he was going to subject Lucio and Hanzo to.

The thought of Hanzo held in the main court roughly scraped his mind empty of everything but the low, cold dread of long experience. McCree had spent years in the ranks of the Flower Station Opinicon before he'd left for good. He remembered the monsters, huge and vicious and unpredictable, remembered the court with  its spikes driven into the stone, the chains and the hooks and the stocks. He thought of Hanzo's bloody teeth above him on the bridge. Thought of Lucio saying  _ barely holding together _ .

He thought of Hanzo and Lucio realizing just what kind of man McCree was, being a part of such an organization, a member of this order. He'd already been a disappointment to Hanzo, already engendered his disgust and distrust, and now Hanzo and Lucio would see just what kind of order McCree was a part of.

"We are not going to the Opinicon if you're going." The words sounded childishly  stubborn, though . Even McCree didn't believe them. He'd laid his case for the Opinicon out too well.

"We can look after each  other."  Lucio's voice was light in the dizzy near panic of McCree's brain.

McCree was gripping his left hand with his right, pressing his right thumb into a fifteen year old agony on the base of his hard, left palm. The years at the Opinicon had been good at the time. He'd been young, he hadn't known better. His life had been a never ending search that only found more monsters, and money, and questions. Those years had made an outlaw of him.

"They'll kill you both," McCree said flatly, still keeping his face under the shade of his hat brim, still holding his left hand as tightly as he could with his right. He should let go, keep his hands at his sides, look normal,  but didn't care. "I won't be able to stop them if they see you."

He could taste red dust on his tongue. The back of his neck prickled from the sun over the plains and heat that could reach into your bones and leave you dry soaked into him. The heat haze making wide blue pools on the red stone. The little half wild horse running all day with him on her back, never crossing a fence. His left hand felt like it was being burned from the bone out, all the way up to his elbow. It was a pain that shouldn't exist. His mind was still in his years as an active guild member. Thinking of the Inquisitors at the Opinicon, their hooks and hammers and endless curiosity. He shuddered as an involuntary mental image of Hanzo lying broken between the spikes and chains on the warm red stone of the court. Lucio in stocks with broken legs and bloody hands and no way to run.

"You're not going  alone."  Hanzo shook his mane out.

The force of that statement yanked the ground out from under McCree. For a moment, he felt like he was falling again, with nothing hold on to.

"Then we find somewhere else," McCree muttered. His chest felt tight, his mouth was dry and his eyes were burning. Panic fluttered behind his eyes. His left hand pulsed and burned like acid sliding under his skin.

"We have to move fast," Hanzo's voice was low. "If what you've told us is true, Flower Station is our safest bet."

Something in his tone  made McCree force his eyes to focus. Hanzo was crouched low over the pool, staring down into it, gazing into its centre. He had never looked so focused before, and he'd never seemed so ethereal. Something about him made the air around them taste like ozone, his mane was fluffed up and his eyes were  dilated .

McCree looked from Hanzo to Lucio, to Hanzo, to the pool and back at Lucio.

Then he turned back to the pool so fast he nearly slipped on the moss.

Red towers of rock in the distance, rolling red plains, darker patches on the landscape where water gathered, and  cactuses survived with scruffy shrubs and low grass. The dark snaking river in  its gorge, the dry riverbeds and the dusty roads of paler stone. The little grid of streets, so familiar it broke his heart, yanked on his homesickness. Flower Station was below him, bigger than he remembered; general store, church, the town hall halfway rebuilt after a fire. The paddocks for the livestock that came in off the train were larger. The wide roofed trainstation by the train line, so proudly running through one edge of the town. The emptiness of the land beyond the streets, the path into the hills he knew so well he could ride it in the dark.

"Oh," McCree whispered. His right hand clutched a little tighter over his left. It never mattered how hard he held his left hand, the pain never changed when it came like this. The path into the hills that led to a little cleft in the canyon where he'd been happy for fifteen years.

He was seeing his childhood home from a few hundred feet above it.

“ Lucio, go  as McCree’s partner, you can hand me in for bounty,” Hanzo said. 

“Sure, and we can move faster as long as I don’t have to hide…” 

McCree’s attention slipped off Lucio’s words. It was cold inside himself, unable to focus on the world outside the red hills and ordered streets of his childhood beyond the pool before him. He felt a cold, uneasy twist in his gut. He had missed something between Hanzo and Lucio. The Opinicon was a good place for the Hanamurans, but not the best, certainly not the easiest, whatever McCree had said. He had intended to get Hanzo to take him there, intended to get to his old trunk in the dormitories. Now he was the one feeling played. And he’d promised to kill the entire fighting force of the Opinicon. 

"No," McCree groaned. He looked hungrily down at his childhood home. He’d  interrupted Hanzo and Lucio’s talk and they were looking at him curiously. He kept talking until he’d told the truth.  H  "Ain't no way. It’s not worth the risk. You'll die, both of you."

Hanzo just snorted at him. Derision  was an emotion made for a dragon to express.

"I ain't foolin here," McCree snapped up at Hanzo. He was hanging quite still over the water of the pool, his talon's tucked up under him and his red eyes a little shadowed. He was watching McCree's every move. "You're too big. You're too clearly a threat. You want to tell me why the Lord in Eichenwald put a bit fat bounty on you? Because I swear the folks’ round where I come from will like you even less than he did."

Hanzo's talons closed a little tighter over each other, and McCree felt a twist of guilt, and didn't know why.

"They got ballista at the Opinicon, a couple of  cannons . I said it's fortified, and I ain't kidding. Safest place for miles around as long as you ain't an aberration."

McCree forced his hands back to his sides. The heel of his left hand felt punctured and he imagined he felt blood run down his palm to his fingers. It wasn't real.

"Go  small." Lucio looked over at Hanzo. "You're a hell of a lot less threatening when you ain't this big."

Hanzo snorted again, but this time less derisively.

McCree's pain derailed as he blinked at Lucio, then Hanzo, and back.

"Small?"

"He's bigger than this," Lucio  clarified. "Usually he's a lot bigger than this. And he can go smaller too."

"Bigger than  this." McCree's mouth mimicked the words even as his brain failed to process them. There were very few things he was not willing to consider in this world but  most of them  he was discovering all those thoughts revolved around Hanzo being any more frightening than he already was.

But, he could very, very clearly remember the hard length of Hanzo's teeth pressed to his side, the width and weight and size of Hanzo's head in his arms. He tried to imagine it larger.

"Dragon's couldn't do much travelling if they looked like this all the time," Lucio pointed out in the most damnably reasonable tone. "He's bigger in his real size."

"Which is  how..." McCree started, then looked at Hanzo, really looked at him. He took a breath and forced his mind to go back to the bridge, back to looking up at coil over coil rising up into the air, a monster that filled the sky above McCree and cast a shadow over him.

Hanzo was looking straight back at him, not moving an inch. This Hanzo, this form that was small enough to curl up on the roof of a cabin, small enough for McCree to ride on, small enough for McCree to wrap his arms around him. This form was not so large it could snap McCree in half.

"Smaller," McCree said, eloquent as he ever was.

Hanzo as good as shrugged, and looked back down at the pool.

Lucio was smirking at Hanzo when McCree looked at him for explanation. He shrugged cheerfully up at McCree when he caught his gaze.

"He'll be fine if he goes small. He looks like a toy."

Hanzo's fur rucked up in indignation, he opened his mouth with a snarl.

"Alright," McCree said, more to forestall an argument than out of agreement. His mind reluctantly was already planning ahead, mapping out the familiar halls of the Opinicon, making a siege out of his old home. No one else spoke, so he took a breath that made his heart race as he thought of what he was going to say. "We'll go to the Opinicon. Hanzo's a good way to get the Inquisitors to come down out of their towers, Lucio can help us move fast when I start killin'. If I yell at you to get out, whatever's happening, you get the hell out. You hear me?" He looked up between Hanzo and Lucio and they both blinked at him. "I got claim to be there, you're going to die if something goes wrong. You get out, any way you can, and you get back here."

"He's not going to leave without  you."  Lucio jabbed a thumb at  Hanzo. " Or me." 

Hanzo snapped his teeth at Lucio very briefly. McCree flinched but Lucio didn't, and Hanzo froze again.

"Ready?" Lucio was flagrantly ignoring Hanzo. "We'll follow you're lead."

McCree stood at the edge of the pool and looked down at Flower Station. His stomach lurched so bad he thought he might be sick.

"Yeah, sure," McCree lied. "Saddle up."

Hanzo let out a long breath that rippled over the surface of the water. Flower Station vanished, and instead, the pool just reflected the flat blue sky, and a hawk  circling overhead. When he looked up, the sky above him was half filled with clouds. The pool showed flat blue, and the banks above the water were red instead of green.

McCree shut his eyes and breathed out.

"Get up on my back," Hanzo said. He was close beside McCree now, the long body curved around him. 

"Novel experience," Lucio muttered.

McCree watched as Lucio swung up easily, the motions familiar but carefully executed, and then Lucio was perched on Hanzo's back. He sat up on his knees, McCree noticed, crouched forward a little like a race jockey. McCree wondered how fast Genji was.

"Well, Gunslinger?" Hanzo turned his head a little and McCree realized he hadn't moved.

McCree swallowed, and realized he couldn't force his feet any closer to Hanzo. 

"McCree," Hanzo said again.

The first time Hanzo had used his name. First time he'd heard it in the dragon's low voice. McCree caught himself about to cradle his left hand in his right again, and stopped himself in time. He closed his mouth and managed to look away from  Hanzo after  a moment.

"Sorry about earlier," McCree said, staring at the red banks of the pool’s reflection. He had to force the words out. His mouth had no training for anything like this, he couldn't rely on instinct here.

Hanzo was quiet for a moment, shifting only slightly. Lucio said nothing. 

"Very  well."  Hanzo's head tipped a little, encouraging him forward.

McCree took a breath, and glanced up at Lucio, who backed up a little and gave a quick little shrug.

He didn't think of his little horse this time. He pulled himself up onto Hanzo's  back in front of Lucio and hesitated, his hands above the thick fur of the golden mane.

"Hold on," Hanzo instructed. He shook his head, the mane floating up and out and back. Golden fur trailing over his thighs for a moment. 

"Right," McCree said. He swallowed hard and reached into the golden mane. It was as thick and soft as he was coming to expect, and very warm. McCree could sense more than feel Lucio crouched behind him, holding onto the ridge of fur that ran down Hanzo's back. Instinct made him hold on with his legs as the length of Hanzo's body went solid with muscle for one instant, then there was a lurch and they were flying.

McCree shut his eyes, a little woof of breath escaping him because this was like falling in reverse. Except the helplessness of falling was countered here by the power and sureness of Hanzo flying him up in a spiral, out from the treetops, banking around in the bright sunshine with McCree balancing on his back. Easier this time with Hanzo so sure under him.

Then they dove, flying faster than McCree could fall, directly towards the pool.

Lucio whooped once, like he couldn't help himself, and cold shattered around McCree, and they were through.

 

~*~*~

 

McCree was smiling in the dark under his neckerchief when he rode over the well worn roads back to Deadlock Gorge. The moon was down and the stars were fierce, bright points above him leaving the red land around him silvery pale in the starlight. It was the cold, still hours before dawn, hours after their successful train robbery and McCree was feeling heavy and warm from the adrenaline that had burned out of him. The night’s work had left him sleepy and sated and full in a way food would never make him.

The gorge was dark when he reached the edge, and made his way down, swaying on his horse's back as she flicked an ear at him in irritation. The path down to the cave was well known, but there were traps and gaps and parts that weren't safe, by nature or design. He had to feel his way down to ride safely; left palm on the warm red rock to feel the notches he and his gang had cut into the stone years ago to mark the switchbacks. He probably didn't need to direct his horse, she knew this way better than he did, but it was comforting to feel the edges of the path to home.

The cave at the end of the gorge had been a tunnel hollowed out by some ancient river that had carved through the gorge before falling away into the main canyon away to the east. The cave was dusty dry now, blocked at one end thousands of year ago and it had made a hideout that had been a haven since McCree and his gang had found it as children. Once they'd dragged out the bones of the former occupants, fixed up a few shelters inside, learned how to make a fire without much smoke, it had been perfect. They had never been chased out. They had never been found.

They learned how to build better cabins inside the cave, made doors for the yawning wide entrance and made them look like the stone to hide the entrance. They managed to carve out a den in the warm red rock and it had been the only home McCree had known and it was all he'd ever wanted.

He slipped off his horse's back and grabbed his meager loot from the night's work when he reached the doors, ducking under the wooden walkway they'd hammered into the gorge wall and into the little open side entrance. It was warm inside, the fires burning low in their circles, the flickering light casting up the red rock, shadowless and quiet.

"Brenda!" McCree pulled his neckerchief down, jogging up the slope to the hard right hand turn that led him to their homestead proper. "Digger, wake up, where'd you leave the horses?"

No one answered, and McCree dumped the dead sheriff's paniers to one side and turned to the open belly of the cave. It was just as he'd left it before sundown. He took a few more steps inside, left hand fingering the dusty smooth cotton of his neckerchief, comforting and soft and familiar. He realized his right hand was on Peacekeeper. 

It was quiet.

McCree slowed and stopped himself before walking in any further.

"Brenda Jean," he called again. His best friend and second in command. The girl with the long braids and the scars on her neck she never tried to hide. His sister who had laughed in encouragement and caught the heavy burden of their night's treasure haul one handed from her painted pony’s back and told him to have fun a few hours ago.

She didn't answer.

The crates of food were untouched, the spouts on the barrels of carefully hoarded rainwater dry. The lockbox from their last enterprise, a treasure of over a fifteen hundred folly, was lying open where they'd left it, gold coins in a heap around the open box.

The cave was perfectly silent around him. The low light of the fires cast no shadow on the walls but his own.

McCree took a step backward, looking around faster now. He was used to the wool bedrolls crowded with his family, used to the fires flaring up with food constantly on the go, used to noise and activity and his family around him.

Empty.

McCree backed  up another step.

Outside, a horse whinnied suddenly. The long, restless cry of a horse trying to find a herd to rejoin. McCree turned and pulled his neckerchief up and walked straight back outside to his little half-wild horse without looking back. She was standing side on to him, leaning forward and up, calling another long  whinny towards a stone column behind the outhouse. McCree stared blindly through the darkness, his night vision lost in the ember-light of the caves, and it took him a moment that shocked him cold to  realize what he was looking at.

The ghost he thought he was seeing resolved in the starlight to the white patches on a painted pony.

It stood swaying, feet planted, head down, ignoring the calls of the little half-wild thing beside McCree. McCree whistled, the three notes his entire family used to call their horses, but it kept still. It stared at nothing, and didn't flick an ear when McCree approached. It was more docile and helpless than any living thing McCree had ever seen before. McCree weighed his experience of being bitten four times in the last month by this irascible monster, and hesitated before carefully laying a hand on the horse's painted neck.

It didn't seem to notice his touch. Its fur was matted with sweat, foam was dropping from  its open lips to a wet, slimy pile under its mouth on the stone. It was shaking hard in the warm night air and barely breathing.  Its belly band and the blanket on  its back were drenched and cold.

There was blood on  its right flank. McCree found three small, deep cuts. Stab wounds, made deliberately, by a rider with a good sharp knife and a lot of force behind it.

Brenda Jean loved this horse more than she loved McCree.

McCree spared the time to unbuckle the belly band and drag  the sodden blanket off the paint and left it in a heap. He hastily rubbed the animal dry and dropped a new blanket over  its back and made sure there was water in the trough near it. The paint didn't move, didn't even blink, its eyes had gone white and  its shuddering was growing worse. McCree chewed his lip hard under the protection of his neckerchief and then turned back to his horse, who watched him with white showing around her eyes. She hadn't come any closer to her herd mate.

"Sorry, sweet girl," he murmured to her as he pulled himself up onto her back. "Ain't no rest for us."

He reached forward to rub her ears and pat her neck. His hand raised a cloud of dust he could smell as he turned and she turned under him. He rode back up the path, keeping one hand on the warm stone wall and digging his trembling fingers into the notches at the switchbacks, his nails scraping stone. When they were back up out of the gorge, trotting through the darkness down the empty roads, McCree couldn't stop the fear in his chest, and he kicked her up into a gallop. She jumped forwards, flighty and eager and snorting for breath with McCree gasping and choking down panic on her back. 

Then they were racing back through the darkness.

 

~*~*~

 

McCree opened his eyes expecting silvery starlight, the velvety black walls of hills around him, the stars burning so brightly overhead they left a faint green impression on the inside of his eyelids. He expected to find the dusty red bowl of Flower Station silent and dark and perfectly, achingly empty.

A  red-tailed  hawk cried over head, and McCree opened his eyes and let out a quick huff of breath. Hot sunshine on red stone, the trails of green and purple lavender and grey and green sage . The air was hot and he could smell  of cactus flower and baked stone. The sky was stark blue from red-rim to red-rim, empty of clouds, the sun was almost directly overhead. The shadow of the hawk flashed over his head, and McCree shut his eyes again.

It had been years since he'd seen this place. Years before that since he'd thought it was beautiful.

He shoved a hand over his face. Dusty roads he could ride through in the dark. The lines of hills around him he knew better than his own profile. Notches in the warm red stone he could dig his fingertips into.

"Must be gettin' old," McCree muttered. 

"Well at least that's behind you," Lucio said with more confidence  than McCree could really credit.

"That a threat?" McCree rubbed his  face. He couldn't care if it was.

There was a clatter as Lucio jumped off Hanzo's back, laughing, and the quality of the music changed, warmer, slower, and McCree felt his breathing even out a little.

"McCree," Hanzo's voice was low, barely a question.

McCree looked up, tense and wary and wondering what he'd done wrong this time. His name still sounded strange to him on Hanzo’s tongue.

Hanzo wasn't looking at him, just keeping perfectly still, his head slightly cocked. McCree blinked as he realized he was still gripping the golden mane, right hand made into a hard, tight fist, his thumb rubbing a hank of fur over his clenched fist, over and over, soft and comforting and unfamiliar. His hand was shaking. 

McCree loosed his grip and pulled his hand back as he began sliding sideways, barely managed to hiss, "Pardon, didn't mean to… ”, as he slipped off Hanzo in the least graceful dismount since that morning. Then he realized Hanzo was higher up off the ground than McCree had expected, and he fell further than he was ready for.

"Take it easy!" Lucio snapped.

McCree just barely saw Lucio jerk back and away and he didn't understand why, then there was a flash of gold fur and blue scales. McCree staggered as he hit the stone, barely catching his feet under himself as his right hand found something to hold onto. 

Soft gold fur, tiny scales, McCree's right hand was flat against Hanzo's muzzle when he found his balance.

"He's fine," Lucio grumbled from somewhere behind Hanzo's head. "Don't move like that. Damn. Scared the hell out of me.”

"Thanks," McCree said stupidly. He steadied himself, swayed slightly as a hawk cried overhead, and shut his eyes briefly. His fingers traced slightly over the grooves between scales, his pinky finger ran over soft, short fur. He tried to catch his breath.

"I'm alright, I'm..." McCree opened his eyes and pulled his hand back and straightened his spine. He'd brought a dragon and dragon's best friend to a dangerous part of the word because he needed something here. He had to keep it together. He had to find some damn grit and keep his face. He had come back to the place his home had been, and he was going to take what he needed from it.

A dragon had picked him to do something it couldn't. He had work to do.

"Thanks," McCree said again. Sweat was prickling in his hair and on the back of his collar. "Sorry, been awhile since I've been here. Just... Need a minute." He got his expression and posture and the easy tilt of his shoulders under control as he pulled away from Hanzo, stepping carefully over rock and dust. Everything was familiar. Good memories and bad warred for attention behind his eyes.

Hanzo just watched him, his head ducked down slightly, his long neck curved around where McCree had slid off his side. His mane was up, softly waving and his ears were  pricked forwards. He'd moved fast when McCree had dropped stupidly off his side.

McCree took a breath, slow and easy and let it out, stood casually with his thumbs on his belt and nodded. "Right,  well." He looked around, forced himself to look for landmarks, familiar places, line up the hills in his mind. "We ain't right in Flower Station, that's good. Where is this?"

They were on the edge of a deep cut river bank, too shallow and sloped to be a gorge. There was  shaded little pond behind them, lavender and sage and aloe bursting from around  its smooth rim. A stream ran through a tumble of rocks down the gully to feed it, and then  ran away through an old stone dam. The plains stretched out before him, red and shimmering in the heat, and for a  moment he was dazzled by the light, the heat, the open, breathless expanse of the place he came from.

"A little way to the  south." Hanzo shook his mane out again, and McCree wondered if he'd hurt Hanzo by yanking on his mane, of if the dragon was simply annoyed.

"Close to the Opinicon,  right." McCree studied the profile of the hills again. Some of the old familiar landmarks were missing or changed, new ones had appeared and confused him. "I hate to ask," McCree said with absolute sincerity and bracing  himself, "w hen is this?"

"Just after you left  Eichenwald."  Lucio shrugged, then looked to Hanzo for confirmation. "Unless you did something weird."

Hanzo shook his head. "We arrived here a few hours after I took you to Hanamura."

So McCree hadn't been wrong. He had, in fact, managed to get home by fighting a dragon. Just not through gold like he'd thought. At least he got to skip the ship passage.

"Well hell," McCree said. "Don't that beat all."

Lucio smiled at  him. " It's a lot, I know. The time thing is weird at first, it's not something that comes easy to us."

Hanzo just snorted without looking at them, time travel apparently came easily to dragons.

"Ignore him," Lucio said to McCree with a grin and taking his own advice as always. "Where's this abomination  bastille you want to storm?"

" Opinicon." McCree managed just barely to smile back at him. He looked out at the basin of red rock and old landmarks. McCree tipped his chin. "That way." For the first time, he'd moved enough the shade of his hat brim didn't cover his face, and the heat of the sun soaked through his beard and into his skin. A new wash of memories threatened to drown him. He could remember sunshine on his bare arms as he rode, freckles darkening on his shoulders when he played in the sluggish river, basking in the sunshine on a warm day in the winter with his shirt off, flat on his back on the warm stone. 

"How fast do you want to go?" Lucio asked.

McCree looked back at Lucio, but the question had been aimed at Hanzo who settled a little lower on his clawed feet.

"How far are we?" Hanzo tipped his head at McCree.

McCree shrugged, he hadn't been here before, or if he had, hadn't lingered enough to get his bearings, but he had a rough idea. "Half a day's  ride, I'd  guess, little less.  Walking..." The lack of anything resembling a horse impressed itself on McCree. An impression that had been fairly close to the forefront of his mind  all since early this morning. "Get there by nightfall. Just after."

Hanzo snorted, and shook his mane once. "Too far. Get on."

"Ok," Lucio agreed readily, and McCree looked up in startled incomprehension in time to see Lucio hop back up onto Hanzo's back.

" Oh.”  McCree  blinked. " Oh no."

Hanzo stiffened, the fur of his mane coming up into points.

"I'm  just..." McCree ducked his head down behind his hat brim to shut himself up. His stupid mouth talking over his sense again.

"Hanzo can keep a low profile," Lucio said, as if that had been McCree's main concern instead of something that hadn't even occurred to him. "And it's faster."

McCree looked up at him, Lucio was perched like a jockey again, a compact little figure, bright green light and dreadlocks and desperately out of place here. Even if he wasn't with a blue and gold dragon with a streak of pride McCree couldn't cross. Or at least not without being a disappointment. Hanzo was looking away from him.

"Right," McCree managed. "Right well, we can't be seen. When we get close I'll let you know, I can walk in from there."

"We will, yeah," Lucio said with kind firmness. "You ain't going alone."

Hanzo kept looking out at the hills, his shoulders raised, neck arched in a bow that looked almost affronted as he crouched low. "I'm coming with you." Hanzo's voice was quiet, and it sounded strange in the hot, open air of the stone hills around them.

"Both of us," Lucio said, gazing off into the sky as though pretending he was not, in fact, having to correct a dragon.

Hanzo just growled, glancing up sideways at his little rider.

" Right."  McCree huffed a sigh. "It's better if you let me go alone, but sure. We'll walk in. I'll tell you when we're close."

Gingerly, McCree climbed back up onto Hanzo's back, unwilling to hold on too tight with his legs after this morning, unwilling to hold onto the golden mane too tight after his latest mistake just now.

Hanzo straightened, drifted forwards, and then they flew. McCree held his hat down and forgot his inhibitions and held on to Hanzo, Lucio gave a little breathless laugh behind him. They were skimming low over the ground, Hanzo's clawed feet tucked up under him, a foot or so over the ground, flowing silent and swift as a diving bird over the red rocky stones of the gully.

McCree caught himself rubbing his fingers in Hanzo's mane again. A useless gesture with his gloved left hand and he stopped himself, hopefully before Hanzo had noticed. He needed to plan, needed to remember the layout of the Opinicon, the dimensions of the halls and the length and width of the court. He couldn’t focus on anything though. He just stared out  as the red and bright blue of the plains under the noonday sun rolled past them, faster and more steady than a horse. Lucio began singing softly behind them, green light glimmering on Hanzo's scales when McCree glanced aside, and they sped on even faster.

It took them just over an hour to reach on Hanzo's back.

" Ok."  Lucio slid off Hanzo's back, not taking his eyes off the Opinicon. "Ok, I'm beginning to understand a few things here."

“I told  you."  McCree pushed his exhausted luck and stayed on Hanzo's back. Just a little longer, just a little more than he ought to, just to keep his hand in Hanzo's mane for just a few more seconds. "I wanted to go in alone."

Lucio eyed the spikes set into the stone walls. McCree remembered helping to hammer them in. He felt sick when he looked at it now.  r.

"You lived here? Listen, I can't tell if I love myself too much or not enough, but I would not choose to live there." Lucio shook his head.

"It seemed the best option at the time," McCree said. He kept his voice light, easy. It wasn't until Lucio shot him a look that he realized how he had slipped into the voice of a liar.

"Uh  huh."  Lucio cocked an eyebrow at him.

McCree looked away, back to Hanzo, but the dragon kept still, standing just behind a rocky ridge, panting slightly after the long flight over the plains. He didn't seem to notice that McCree was still perched on his back, or maybe he had lost interest in him. McCree sighed, and combed his fingers out of Hanzo's mane before sliding down. He caught his balance more easily this time, and didn't need to catch himself on Hanzo's muzzle, surprising as it was to find Hanzo turning to offer him the help.

" Thanks."  McCree almost patted Hanzo's flank then remembered himself in time. He kept his hands at his sides, then managed to  loosen the tension in his back in time to almost look casual about it. "That was mighty fine. Better way to travel  than I'd have come up with."

"Just  so."  Hanzo barely snorted, tipping his head one way then the other to lift his mane in a low rise, nose up slightly. Proud of himself maybe, or just enjoying the sunshine on his scales. McCree caught himself smiling.

"Oh Christ, you two," Lucio muttered beside him. He pointed at Hanzo before turning to McCree. "You, go small. McCree, you tell us how this goes. Only thing you don't get to call is how Hanzo and I are coming with you."

" Sure."  McCree turned a little, running a hand through his wind shot hair before shoving his hat back into place. There were a few things he had to line up in his mind, a few objectives he wanted captured before the sun went down. "You keep back a little, let them see Hanzo first, and let me do the talkin'."

Lucio nodded once, looked from McCree to the Opinicon and back. His eyes lit up when he looked past McCree, he abruptly looked more delighted than McCree had ever seen him.

McCree turned, mouth open in alarm to look for Hanzo, and stopped cold.

Hanzo stared haughtily back at him. Tiny gold antlers, mouse-like ears, little face, and toy like claws. Hanzo was floating at eye level and barely thicker and only a little longer than McCree's arm.

"Oh," McCree said stupidly.

Before he could stop himself McCree turned to face Hanzo head on. He reached up and stroked down the length of Hanzo's body with both hands. The fur was unbelievably silky and fine, the scales so small and pearly and delicate. Hanzo was exquisite.

Hanzo froze in mid air, head up, watching McCree with wide red eyes. McCree stared back at him, hands out, shocked at his own boldness. 

"I've never seen you so  tiny."  Lucio broke the horrible, momentary silence. He looked as enchanted as McCree felt. He had both fists clenched under his chin, arms tense and shoulders up, he was beaming.

"The form is unworthy of  me."  Hanzo stiffly leaned up and away from Lucio as he reached up. "Demeaning." He floated higher and a little further away as Lucio persistently reached up to pet him. He was drifting around McCree, and either didn't notice, or care, that McCree could still reach him.

McCree seized what could be a limited chance and possibly in a moment of insanity, pet down the long ridge of fine, golden fur again. Hanzo was warm and solid and so soft and fine and lovely against his bare hand.

"Undignified," Hanzo growled, lifting his tiny head, a proud gesture that looked adorable.

"Don't that beat all," McCree managed. He pet down the length of Hanzo's body again. Just once more, his bare right hand again on tense muscle under pearl-smooth scales, downy fine fur. McCree couldn't stop his smile. He kept his left hand cupped a little under Hanzo, as though ready for the tiny dragon to alight in his palm to rest at any time. 

McCree's eye suddenly managed to see past Hanzo, focused on his own hand for a moment. It was just long enough to notice the dust and blood stains, the darker lines where pine sap had cemented dirt and ash to his hands. His right hand had scars and callouses that he'd built up over years as an outlaw and a hunter. His left hand was a hidden lie that could have him killed.

Hanzo looked exquisite in the sunshine. Like he'd been crafted by a god who had a fine eye for detail and a love of gold. He was a delight. 

McCree snapped his hands away.

Lucio reached past him, still chasing Hanzo to pet him like a pampered  lapdog. " Genji always sticks his tongue out when he's the size of a  noodle. You're way more dignified."

"My brother is no metric to be measured against," Hanzo snarled.

Tiny teeth, kitten-sharp like his claws. McCree didn't flinch when he saw them and he nearly laughed at himself.

Lucio leaned around McCree, reaching around him with a  grin. "C'mere Hanzo,  please, y ou never get this  tiny. You're adorable."

"Leave me," Hanzo hissed at Lucio's reaching hand, edging a little more around McCree.

"So soft," Lucio  teased. " Sooo tiny."

McCree snorted with laughter, sandwiched between Lucio's single minded focus and Hanzo's hissing. His mane was rucked up again, scales pointing out. It was impossible to find the display threatening.

"Let him  alone."  McCree pushed Lucio back, still laughing, his left hand flat over Lucio's chest.

Lucio leaned into him, making McCree work to push him away, his eyes still on Hanzo, grinning. "He's cute! For the first time!"

Hanzo hissed, and then darted around McCree, swerved into hiding and McCree froze. The strength holding Lucio back hitched and Lucio had to catch himself before he fell forward.

The hair on the back of McCree’s neck went up. Hanzo hissed again.

He was perched on McCree's shoulders, wrapped over the back of his neck, McCree's dusty, bloody hair mingling with Hanzo's golden fur. McCree was staring at Lucio without really seeing him, mouth open, eyes unfocused, sensing each of Hanzo's claws clinging to his coat, the way his hair slid over Hanzo's scales as it fell away. Hanzo's tail curled around his arm, the tip was feathery with gold fur, the first time McCree had really noticed it.

"Easy," McCree said quietly, though he wasn't sure if he was talking to himself, Hanzo, or Lucio. He kept himself stooped forward slightly, unwilling to risk unbalancing Hanzo.

"I told  you.”  Lucio smirked up at Hanzo. His expression dropped from sheer delight to smug satisfaction.

McCree blinked again.  He took  a breath and straightened, moving carefully and ready to stop if he felt Hanzo sway even slightly off balance.

Lucio laughed and Hanzo's fur lifted slightly. It ruffled into McCree's hair, light and brief, no points in the golden fur, his scales were pearl-smooth against the skin on McCree’s neck.

Hoping it could pass as an unconscious gesture, McCree carefully raised his hand and cupped it lightly around Hanzo's flank as thought to steady him, and straighten up. "Lucio, ok you're comin' with me but can you walk? Or you always... skate like that?"

Lucio grinned at him, dancing in place while light  flashed from under his feet. "I can do this all day."

“ Well, a lright  then."  McCree  sighed. " Then keep that shy you hear me? Don't show off."

"You'll suffer through that just this  once, won't  you," Hanzo put in. He settled down on McCree's shoulders, the long length of his belly warm and solid over the back of McCree's neck. He leaned slightly into the hand over his flank.

Lucio made a rude gesture and McCree cut him off before he could speak.

“Let me do the talkin', they'll want to...  take a look at Hanzo." The thought of what the  Inquisitors and the other hunters who might be around would want with Hanzo flashed across his mind in one long, bloody, screaming instant. This time, it  _ was  _ unconscious when his hand tightened over Hanzo's side. "They like the non-human ones."

" Ok.”  Lucio seemed game for anything, almost excited. "We can handle it."

McCree managed one more long sigh. " Right, I guess I'm taking you in then." The thought was ludicrous enough to make him stumble over turning the thought to words. "Or something."

"Here, one more  thing."  Lucio, clearly more prepared than McCree ever would be for this, pulled a length of twine from a pocket. "Hanzo, c'mere."

"Hope you're right about this," Hanzo growled. He slid forward, leaning down from McCree's shoulder towards Lucio with bad grace.

“I’m always right,” Lucio said with a grin.

"Now hold on," McCree started, confused at the words and alarmed by the twine.

McCree stared as Lucio deftly made a loop in the twine and cinched it around Hanzo's tiny muzzle.

Hanzo kept still, barely twitching his bound whiskers in irritation as Lucio tied his jaws shut, cast another loop over Hanzo's head behind his horns, and locked the twine in place with one knot under Hanzo's throat. He passed the end of the twine to McCree, who took it dumbly.

The cold in his gut gave a lurch.

"McCree, don't look like that." Lucio slid backwards a step. His hands were flicking out as he spoke, the pattern of light around him changed, then dimmed slightly as his fingers moved. "Hanzo can just break out of that without noticing. Come on, you think if I tied your left hand shut with this twine that'd stop you from opening it?"

"Guess not." McCree was still staring at Hanzo on his shoulder, and saw Hanzo snap his attention to Lucio, and only then did McCree realize what Lucio had said.

_ Your left hand. _

McCree's heart was suddenly beating too hard, and he was uncomfortably aware of the weight of Peacekeeper at his side, the tension in his shoulders. Lucio didn't seem to notice, he might not have meant to specify. He was scowling at a cat's cradle of green and yellow light between his fingers, looking absorbed. Defenceless.

McCree realized he was staring when the thump of Hanzo settling more securely across the back of his neck caught him off guard. He was watching McCree with jewel-bright red eyes.

"Alright?" McCree looked from Lucio to Hanzo and reached up with his free hand. Then stopped himself. What was he going to do? Pet Hanzo again? Treat him like an animal or something under his control, something he could soothe or comfort? He put both his hands to his sides, then tucked his left hand into the pocket of his coat. "Sorry, I didn't realize what Lucio meant when he... uh, told you exactly what he had in mind."

Hanzo tipped his head. It would have been a shrug on a human, and even on a tiny dragon, it was a remarkably human gesture.

"You can get out of that, right?" McCree had to force himself to ask.

Hanzo looked at him with an unprecedented amount of disdain, and cocked his head.

"Well, alright," McCree murmured. Then he wondered if he could push his exhausted luck just a little  more.  "But you shouldn't be seen until we're inside."

McCree kept very still, nearly holding his breath as Hanzo huffed in irritation, and slid into the collar of McCree's coat, nestled deeper under his hair, tucked up and around McCree's neck like a blue and gold neckerchief. The tiny claws gripped his skin and shirt, and Hanzo gradually settled his weight, and stilled.

McCree wondered if Hanzo could feel his heart thudding against his throat.

"It's fair," McCree managed. He swallowed hard, trying not to smile at Hanzo's delicate little face, inches from his own. "You carried me all morning."

Hanzo just snorted at him, and edged up a little more securely around McCree's neck. His little body was stiff with a tension McCree couldn't really understand, and McCree kept his motions still, kept them easy, tried not to jostle Hanzo at all. For a moment, he thought of Hanzo tightening around his neck, choking him off until he suffocated. Then he fet the crest of Hanzo's fur under his chin, and let out a long, shaking breath.

"Don't attract attention they say, don't show off, suffer through it," Lucio muttered. He was still pulling light into green and yellow lines between his hands, the pattern growing less and less complicated. Then the light coalesced, and burst into a dandelion puff of tiny stars, and he gave a nod of satisfaction. The light around him was noticeably dimmer, McCree couldn't hear music anymore. When Lucio moved, the skating motion wasn't so noticeable. "This is what I got," Lucio shrugged at McCree when he glanced up at him. "Ready?"

McCree hadn't realized how vibrant Lucio looked before, how much the light that shone in his left hand and under his feet lit up at his knees and hips and over his right arm. He didn't look ordinary now, there was no way to mistake Lucio for mundane, but now at least, McCree could see the boy he might have been without his magic.

On his chin, Hanzo snorted at Lucio.

"Speaking of show offs," Lucio muttered with his hands on his hips, smirking up at Hanzo.

Hanzo took the opportunity to lift his tiny head and settle it on the edge of McCree's coat collar, delicately turned aside, ignoring Lucio. McCree let out a little huff and felt a smile flick at the corner of his lips. Hanzo was warm and solid and comfortably heavy draped over his shoulders, his hair and Hanzo's fur mingling in the privacy under the back of McCree's hat.

"Well, guess we're ready as we will  be.” McCree caught himself reaching up to cup Hanzo against his neck, but instead of flying off, Hanzo arched slightly into his hand, and dug his little claws into McCree's coat. McCree kept his hand in place, cupped around the slender curve of Hanzo's side. He looked down at the red and white bulldog of the Opinicon, and his smile faded. "Guess it's time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! This chapter was beta read by the outstanding [emotionalmorphine!](http://emotionalmorphine.tumblr.com) Who is quite simply the very best. Thank you so much. (•‾⌣‾•)و ̑̑♡ Also huge thanks to Windlion for talking me through this chapter and the next when I was planning them out, it helped enormously. <3  
> Next chapter will be posted on Dec. 20 (Happy Hanukkah!).  
> I have a [tumblr!!](http://leoandlancer.tumblr.com) Come by and check it out if you're so inclined. ⌒°(❛ᴗ❛)°⌒


	7. It's Not Impulsive If You Survive

The Opinicon had been built a few years after McCree had lost his family. That wasn't exactly a coincidence.

Monsters hadn't been common out in the plains, but then, one night, they were. With the town growing and more people pushing west every year, the incidences became common enough they couldn't be ignored. Flower Station historically had trouble keeping a sheriff, but a new one had taken the star and her old rifle and rallied some of the roughest folk in the area to follow her into battle to protect the town. An engineer traveling west came through a year later, bringing advice and strategy from an old country where aberrations were common. He and the sheriff worked together to protect Flower Station, and to arm and train the core of hunters the sheriff had rallied. They built the Opinicon outside the town, where the sheriff and her engineer of a deputy trained the outlaws as hunters, gave them money and weapons and a place to sleep and a few easy rules to live by.

The whole town had helped to build it. The sheriff and the mayor poured money into the construction. Gold folly that McCree smuggled into the mayor's coffers every week from the Deadlock hoard. When the Opinicon was fully built and functional, McCree was flat broke and earning a wage for the first time in his life; working hard and killing often. He had lived inside the Opinicon for seven years

McCree looked out at the closing distance between himself and the Opinicon now, his heart thudding uncomfortably fast and hard against his ribs.

The building itself, or at least the outer walls, were almost exactly as he remembered it. It looked like a bulldog, crouched over the low land between the hills in a huge oval. McCree could walk himself through the halls and rooms and the court in his mind. The dormitories that had been more like a convent or a prison than a home. A meeting hall that was constantly crowded and a chapel that was always empty. An armory, quarters for the sheriff and the staff that ran the place. Long kitchens of flat stone and adobe ovens and slabs of flat cast iron for cooking. All of it built out red stone and red adobe. The light in there was red. Everything was.

Of course, he was remembering it as it had been when he was still a teenager and the buildings were brand new. His mind stumbled over the changes that had been brought in just before he’d left. The charred pillars and bloody platforms and iron-bound stocks that had filled the court. The prison that had been built into the walls of the reopened quarry. The growing hoard of inquisitors tools. The inquisitors themselves.

Things had turned sour just before McCree left. Things had been going bad for a while, since the kinds of monsters and their numbers started to change. Then the sheriff lost her eye and she left with the engineer, the number of inquisitors climbed, and most of the hunters McCree liked and respected either died or got chased out. McCree left only a little after the sheriff and the engineer. It had been getting too difficult to hide in plain sight anyway.

McCree pulled his thoughts out of the past, they were almost in the shadow of the Opinicon’s wall now, closing on it’s only gate. He whistled up to the guard barely visible on the high wall around the building. It was an old password, but the guard on the wall looked down at him, and called down instead of shooting to kill.

"That's far enough!"

McCree stopped, he had one arm thrown over Lucio's shoulders, acting as injured as his bloody clothes might suggest. Less threatening. He could just see the gleam of rifles through crosses cut into either side of the gate.

"You got a name stranger? If you're lookin' for the station you're well lost. Town's that way."

"Don't sass me, Caleb," McCree called back, recognizing the voice. His mouth was barking on it's own again. Familiar words, familiar territory for them.

"Oh, you." A silence in which McCree could almost see Caleb adjusting his cap, trying to look taller than his 5'5". "Thought you were long dead, McCree."

Someone laughed behind the walls. McCree heard chains rattle and Lucio flinched slightly.

"Ain't gonna hurt you," McCree murmured softly to him. Louder he called "Try to contain your disappointment. I've come home and I got a bounty to turn in."

"What, the kid? Throw him back, he's too small to keep."

Another voice, barely recognizable words from a throat wrecked with rum and cigars. McCree's memory, playing a shell game of bloody memories, lifted a cup.

"Dagna, this kid's my partner, show some manners," McCree lifted his head enough to see the small man door set into the siege gates swing open. A man inside with a rifle and a long duster cocked his head at McCree.

Lucio didn't move.

"Leave me here,” McCree murmured to him. “You can go back with Hanzo.”

“Go to hell, we’re in this together,” Lucio muttered back.

“You’re not going alone,” Hanzo hissed from inside McCree’s collar.

“Ok. We get any closer, we’re in to it then,” McCree muttered, and moved as Lucio did.

"I may have underestimated this place," Lucio whispered.

"You did," McCree absently nuzzled his jaw against Hanzo's flank, smooth and hot and tense with muscle under his chin. He didn’t know who he was trying to reassure. "But we're here now and we do need the place."

"You know everyone here though," Lucio hissed. They were close to the door now, under the shadow of the Opinicon's walls. It was cooler in the shade.

McCree heard a murmured conversation above him on the wall and two or three people laughed.

"Sure do," McCree eased himself through the small door in the main gates. "Why you think I offered to kill them?"

It smelled like sun baked blood and hot iron, sweat and rotting meat inside the walls of the Opinicon. The little room behind the gate was a kill box, built with a second siege gate between him and the Opinicon's court. There were two smaller doors on either side, one to the guard station on the left and out to the court, and the other that curved up through the wall to its top. The little door they came in by, a tiny door set into the foot thick siege gate, slammed shut behind them. McCree heard iron click with finality.

Lucio kept still, and McCree tried to look as injured as possible to give him a reason to stay close. There were guards in here with them, two on either side of them at the crosses in the stone with their rifles in their arms, a few more in the guard room, mooching in for a better look. A few more came down from the wall top, and smirked down at Lucio. Their eyes trailed over the odd luminescence of his hands and under his feet, the clothing that looked nothing like theirs. McCree coughed to draw some attention back to himself, and raised his head.

Hanzo didn't move. He was coiled around McCree’s neck under his coat collar, and McCree took a long-suffering breath and hoped to god that the hunters gathering in this dim room with their rifles and whiskey-breath saw a blue and gold neckerchief.

"Where's Mae? Or Jonathan. I aint choosy." McCree coughed again, a little piteously.

"One ran off, the other's dead." The man with the rifle who had beckoned them in wasn't familiar to McCree, but he had the silver bars of an inquisitor over his heart, and dark lines of blood and grime over his hands and under his nails. "You want to talk to the quartermaster, you talk to me first."

So, the last two people McCree had known and liked were gone from here. That settled things a little for him. "And who the hell are you?"

"Call me High Inquisitor. I run this place." He was a thin man with sideburns and a scar that perpetually turned one side of his mouth to a smile.

"Charmed," McCree said flatly. "Name's McCree."

"Sure, I know you, seems you're something of a prodigal son in these parts. The older folks around here talked about you. Ain't no one's beat your record you know."

McCree had forgotten about that. He’d stopped caring about it long before he’d left.

"Two shy of a thousand monsters killed in seven years. Hell of a catch you brought in," the inquisitor smiled, and the scar served to turn the same corner of his mouth a little higher now. He had silver eye teeth.

Beside him, Lucio went perfectly still.

"One shy now," McCree's mouth talked over his heartbeat. It had been easy to bring monsters in at the beginning. They'd practically sought him out and they weren’t many big ones. At least not at first. It got harder over the years. Bigger monsters, and more of them looked like humans.

It got harder to kill.  

"This your," the inquisitor paused, his eyes flicking to Lucio and smiling again. "Partner? I heard that right?"

More hunters were oozing into the little room between the gates. McCree, Lucio and Hanzo were locked in here with a herd of curious, bloodstained hunters. Nine of them now. Ten.

"Sure is," McCree drawled. So grateful his mouth could talk on autopilot. He smiled back at the inquisitor, slow and lazy. He was trying to think through how many of these hunters he could kill if they made a move towards Lucio. Some of the hunters were watching him with an interest that was predatory and more than a little unnerving.

"Well, don't know if you can claim a bounty McCree, your membership's been kind of..." The inquisitor gave a lazy shrug. A few people behind him huffed with laughter. "Lax, I guess. Guess you didn't hear about it, but we've got a membership fee nowadays. You're seven years behind from what I can tell. Guess you could sort of work it off, starting now."

"Sure," McCree bared his teeth in a grin and shrugged. Disarming and friendly. When he’d left, he’d had a reputation of a dog that had lost its fight, and it suited him. "Seems fair."

Lucio was perfectly still beside him, smiling amiably. Hanzo gave an almost imperceptibly quiet growl under McCree’s chin. .

"Well lets see how you can work off some of that debt of yours. What'd you bring me?" The inquisitor was sill letting his rifle hang from his right hand, a long extension to his arm that made him look taller than he was.

"Ain't never seen anything like it," McCree said, with perfect honestly. He steadied himself from Lucio reached up to his neck with both hands, and pulled Hanzo out into the open.

Hanzo gave one initial jerk, his claws tightening in McCree's coat, over his skin, his body refusing to be pulled away. Then he played dead with a little shudder of anger or tension.

McCree let the smooth weight of Hanzo’s long body fall over both hands and down his arm.

The dim little room between the two seige gates went perfectly quiet for the first time. All eyes were on the line of bright blue and gold, and the intake of breath was so universal the gates should have buckled inwards.

McCree felt cold without Hanzo around his neck. The hunters and inquisitors stared at the bright, clean, exquisite length of Hanzo’s tiny, perfect body. The golden fur was immobile, the scales lost some of their shine when he wasn't moving. He looked dead, and McCree felt something in his chest ache at the sight.

"Hell," one of the hunters said, sounding blank.

McCree kept breathing slow, breathing easy, kept Lucio tucked safely to his side. They just had to talk their way out of here, into the court. They couldn't risk being trapped in this little room with a firing line waiting for them to leave it.

The inquisitor was staring open-mouthed at Hanzo. No one moved for a long moment that stretched wire taught until McCree's mouth broke the silence on its own.

"Well, you fella's still hunt monsters, right? I brought you one. Ain't you seen that recently? Just how little work are you folks doing these days?"

The inquisitor started, his eyes never leaving the blue scales, the golden fur. Wordlessly, he reached towards Hanzo.

"And I ain't here to make a gift, you understand?" McCree found his mouth moving on its own even as his heart rate lept. The ache in his chest suddenly felt like a knife blade behind his ribs. His hands had tightened protectively around Hanzo, fingers curling up and around him. "Unless things have taken one hell of a turn around here, I came to collect a bounty, not hand over my hard work for a wink and a smile."

"The hell'd you find that?" One hunter was staring at Hanzo with white showing all around his eyes. Another had taken a full step back.

McCree forced himself to grin at them. "Used to be hunters around here'd jump at a chance to see something new. Guess standards are falling everywhere."

It was a shallow, cheap shot, but the inquisitor bared his teeth, all semblance of nicety gone and McCree instinctively curled his fingers to cradle Hanzo's body, just a little more cover, a little more protection...

"Easy," Lucio's voice, low and even and it barely registered on McCree's mind.

The ache in his chest was making it hard to breathe. He wanted to snatch Hanzo to his chest, pull Peacekeeper and start firing. He set his teeth and kept smiling. They could not pick a fight here. They were trapped in a small room with a lot of killers.

The inquisitor reached out, so quickly that the movement startled McCree with its almost childish impetuousness.

He snatched Hanzo one handed, holding him up and leaving his head and tail swinging limply. Hanzo played dead, head back, mouth open.

McCree wasn’t breathing. His hands were still held out and he couldn’t move.

The inquisitor stared with his mouth open and his wide eyes raking over Hanzo's limp body. Then his hand loosened a little. He let Hanzo slip down through his grip until he caught him again, just under his head around his mane. Around his neck.

The inquisitor squeezed, white knuckles in the dim light.

"McCree," Lucio snapped.

McCree barely heard the snap of his name. A white hot agony had cracked open inside his chest and he was already moving. He didn’t need breath for this, didn’t need a steady heartbeat, he needed…

Peacekeeper was in his hand. He was already aiming before Lucio managed to make a sound.

The inquisitor died almost the same instant Peacekeeper spoke in the tiny room between the siege gates.

McCree was barely more than an arm's length from the inquisitor, smoke between his charred face and Peacekeeper's muzzle was pulled sideways and down as the inquisitor dropped backwards. The noise of the shot stunned some hunters, less experienced or just more drunk, and Peacekeeper was already moving to another target.

He fired a second time, and found himself hitting the stone floor hard as he dove forwards, left hand outstretched.

The next instant, he came out of his roll holding Hanzo. He wasn't sure how he’d caught him, but the tiny dragon was right here, Hanzo was safe, it was all worth it, whatever happened now was worth it and _damn_ but McCree could breathe again.

Hanzo hissed in his hand, kitten-sharp teeth in his open mouth, his mane up, body arched and curled around McCree's left hand and up his arm, fierce and savage and unafraid.

"Got you," McCree said, stupid and soft and the ache in his chest that had cracked open was hot and blinding, but McCree dumbly brought Hanzo in close as if that could heal it. He fired Peacekeeper for a third time almost before he saw who he was shooting at. Caleb died before he could drawn his gun.

"Get back," Lucio barked behind him, and there was a burst of green and yellow light, and to McCree's surprise, the room full of hunters and inquisitors who'd been closing in were thrown back. One or two hit the wall and staggered, stunned and uncertain and their bloodshot eyes wide.

McCree stayed curled around Hanzo, covering him as he stood, fired again before anyone could fire back. He backed a step, felt the siege door on his shoulders, felt more than saw Lucio beside him, reaching out with his right hand, green light glowing in his left. Not even trying for mundane anymore.

There were nine hunters still alive surrounding them. Peacekeeper spoke loud enough to draw a crowd and there was a growing jumble of rifles and pistols and dirty hunters with whiskey still in their mouths at the tiny door to the guard house, fighting to get in on the action.

They weren’t all stunned or drunk though, and one of them had the same instincts as McCree apparently.

McCree saw it out of the corner of his eye, a big woman with one ear and black teeth snarled and leveled her pistol with a quickdraw’s ease and had the accuity to aim. Straight for McCree's chest. It would be a centre shot, broken ribs, a hit that would push him back a step, hit his lungs, slow him down If it didn't kill him outright.

McCree bit down on a curse, trying to brace himself, back a step, he was flat against the siege door and he had no time to get away and then she fired in that instant.

Then something jerked sharply on his left arm, hard and sudden and vicious enough that McCree was yanked forwards, and the bullet that had been meant for his ribs and his lungs hit his left shoulder instead. He swore with a vitriol that jarred everyone in the room. The bullet ripped a furrow into his shoulder, plowing gamely on towards his collarbone before it tore out of him, ripping his shirt and jacket on it’s way.

The hunter just sneered and cocked the hammer of her pistol back for a second shot.

"Oh no, no thank you," Lucio thrust his right hand out towards her.

McCree saw light and heard the sound and it wasn't until the hunter staggered back that he realized Lucio had attacked, and it had damn near killed her.

McCree was still holding Peacekeeper, still aiming, still had three bullets left. Two bullets. The woman with black teeth didn't get time to recover or take another shot. One bullet. The next hunter to move her weapon died, and McCree groaned. He chose not to look down at the ruin his shoulder would be.

"I got you," Lucio's left hand moved in the air, green light shining to yellow and McCree let out a huff of relief as the pain instantly began to ease. "I told you you'd need a damn healer!"

"You were right," McCree was starting to reload, spin the gun to empty the chamber, then he stopped when he realized his left hand hadn’t moved.

Hanzo had McCree's left hand clamped hard in his jaws.

In one horrible instant, McCree realized why he'd been yanked forwards, why Hanzo had stopped hissing. Hanzo was perfectly still, his teeth sunk through the leather of McCree’s glove but no further, and McCree felt sick panic as the jewel-bright eyes met his briefly.

They stared at each other, McCree grappling with horror and dread and only halfway through reloading.

Hanzo started away from him, quick and sudden, dropping McCree's hand and darting upwards to fly above them.

McCree reloaded. He ignored the shaking in his right hand and ignored the feeling of pain in his left. It wasn't real, he snarled into the privacy of his own mind. Nothing about that hand is real. He barely noticed the bullet wound in his left shoulder, Lucio's music was making that a problem he’d already answered.

Hanzo hovered above them, a snarling length of blue and gold fury, broken glass scales and mane raised into points, kitten sharp teeth not so cute with Hanzo's snarl creasing his muzzle. But he seemed unwilling to attack, unwilling to leave Lucio and McCree.

There were six hunters left against the opposite siege gate. All of them coming out of the grace period of shock and into retaliation. They were all armed and only half of them had been drunk. They were all killers, and they were mean bastards besides.

"We need out of here," Lucio was pressed to McCree's left side, yellow light shining and Lucio barely able to stay still.

"Sure," McCree reached out, took aim, fired with familiar detachment as one hunter started to draw.  "I'd like to die in the open too."

He didn't know why he'd started this. He hadn't wanted to. He knew he couldn't fight his way through all the hunters, he had fully intended to sneak through them to his actual objective here. He didn’t want this fight at all. But he'd shot first for some damn reason, already killed six of his order and was about to kill more, and now they were in for it.

"I'm serious," Lucio growled.

McCree nodded, he was more fascinated with Lucio than anything he was saying. Lucio’s attacks, four little quarter beats of light and sound were thundering across the small room, tearing into the hunters where they stood. Lucio could kill, McCree had discovered, with his music.  

"Hanzo can't go back to his real form in here!"

McCree actually missed a shot. "Oh."  His gut went cold suddenly. He didn’t take another shot. Real form. The one large enough to bite McCree in half.

A bullet slammed into the siege gate just behind his left ear.

McCree found himself wanting to reach up and pull Hanzo down and keep him tight to his chest again. Safe. He had a flash of memory, the blue and gold dragon filling the sky over him, casting a shadow, scales larger than his fist clattering to the bridge and McCree remembered feeling small. He remembered dying with a dragon’s jaws closing over his chest. Remembered the dragon’s red eyes glaring at him hating him so _much._

Suddenly, McCree could see every step between here and Deadlock Gorge. He could run there in the dark, back down the switchback trail marked with the slashes he’d carved when he was a child. Back to the cave. He could be safe there.

"McCree!"

Three more bullets had barely missed him. Hanzo's snarl jarred him back to a room full of smoke and noise and pushing, violent hunters shooting without bothering to aim most of the time. A bell began tolling above them, then it became a discordant carillon as two more bells joined it.

The remaining hunters inside the room between the gates froze, then began scrambling to get out to the court. A persistent, rattling clatter of ratchets on winches being wound was clearly audible over the sound of the bells.

"The ballista," McCree said stupidly, he remembered that sound. "They’re going to open the gate to the court, fire in here with everything they have.” He tipped his head at the gate before them.

Lucio swore, "We can’t get out of here the way they are can we?

“Through the guard house? No.There’s a firing squad on the other side of that door.” McCree fired into the retreating hunters scrambling for a way out, barely needing to aim.

“And the gate behind us. You can shoot the locks off it right? We can run out that way?”

“Sure. If we can break the locks, lift the bar, open the gate, or the little man door, all we have to do is make a run over flat land covered by snipers. If they’re drunk or we’re lucky, we just have to avoid being ridden down by hunters on horseback.”

“Won’t matter, Hanzo can get to his real size.”

“Great. The folks on the ballistas love a target that big.” McCree felt numb, shaken, furious at himself for taking the first shot, outraged that he’d made the mistake that would kill them all.

They were alone in the little gate house. There was fast, frantic yelling on the other side of the gate.

The tolling of the bells stopped.

“But we won’t have time for any of that.” McCree reloaded Peacekeeper automatically. Dead hunters were piled into the corners and against the walls of the gate room. There was nothing left to shoot at.

“Ok McCree I’ll bite,” Lucio rounded on him, exasperation clear in every bright line of his body. “What’s the plan?"

"I wanted to go alone," McCree’s control of his temper, usually excellent, snapped. He snarled down at Lucio with a loaded gun in one hand. "I didn't want you or Hanzo here! I wouldn't have--"

"Enough," Hanzo snapped. He was between them suddenly, his fur up, scales tipped out. Their peacekeeper. So they'd all had a turn at that. "I will handle this myself."

McCree's heart kicked brutally against the insides of his ribs. Hanzo was turning in mid air, swinging around and heading for the guard house door. Heading towards courtyard.

It wasn’t instinct. He’d never done anything like this before, never learned to move like this. But McCree moved fast as Hanzo turned to face a door through which there would be an unknowable number of armed killers with the sun behind them and weapons in their hands. Lucio jerked back with a bark of surprise. Hanzo snapped around, lamplight glinting off his teeth and claws as he roared.

McCree had snatched him out of the air and pulled him down with an effort.

Peacekeeper hit the ground with a clatter. McCree had dropped his gun for the first time in his life.

"No," McCree said, barely able to breathe. "Not out there." He was holding Hanzo in both hands, against his chest, his right hand trembling slightly from the effort of not clutching Hanzo tighter, keep him right here, fold him inside his chest where Hanzo wouldn't have to deal with this. Wouldn't be at risk.

Where he'd stay small, where he'd never be so huge McCree would be scared of him again.

Lucio was staring at him with his mouth open.

Hanzo hissed at him, twisted around, broken glass scales against McCree's bare right hand. "How do you intend to fight then? Without me?"

"No," McCree struggled to find something to say, anything. "Not without you just..."

What the hell was he doing? McCree forced himself to let go of Hanzo, and the little dragon shot up into the air to coil up around himself, hissing. McCree had a brief glimpse of Lucio looking strangely guilty.

"I didn't want to fight at all," McCree pulled his hat off, shoved a hand through his hair and pushed his hat back on again. His face was hidden under the brim for a moment, and he bit his lip hard in the privacy it offered. He let the gate behind him take some of his weight as he leaned against it.

"I didn't..." McCree started again, stopped, and tried to back a step before he remembered was already flat against the siege door.

A sudden silence from the court rang through the little room between the siege doors. McCree knew that that silence meant the hunters were lined up now, weapons loaded and cocked and aimed at the gate doors, that the ballista and cannons were aimed at them. They had seconds before the siege gate opened and they’d be met with a wall of incoming lead.

McCree had started this. He didn't have a plan, this was a nightmare scenario that he'd been trying to avoid. He'd gotten them killed.

"We go out there, we're running into a firing squad," McCree managed. "We wait here, the firing squad kills us the moment those gates open. Survive that, there's ballista and cannon on the walls.”

"Ballisa are of no concern..." Hanzo started, sneering, and got cut off abruptly.

"You better start being concerned," McCree came up snarling out from under the brim of his hat and taking Hanzo aback, "There's four ballita and two cannon and the engineer that built this place built those turrets to kill. You hear me? The folk in this place aim to kill you whatever size you are."

McCree half expected Lucio to get between them, but he was standing stock still, head cocked, eye staring at nothing, listening.

"We can't leave any other way," Hanzo snapped back, "We need to fight our way..."

"You need to stay a size impossible for a ballista to hit you," McCree stabbed a finger at Hanzo, who snapped at it, kitten-sharp teeth flashing. "You get any larger they'll cut you down."

"Lucio can keep us alive," Hanzo snarled back, raking the air with his claws, his sides rolling in the air as he floated a little above McCree to look down on him. "You can cover our--"

"Guys, keep it down," Lucio said absently.

"I ain't coverin’ shit," McCree said with absolute certainty. "We ain't getting out of here even with Lucio healing..."

"There's no other way out!" Hanzo roared back, "I can carry you both and we can run..."

"Guys, shut it, let me..." Lucio tried again, his head cocked to the other side. There was a rattled of chains that mean the gate was being unbound. They were nearly out of time.

"We came here to _take_ the Opinicon not run away from it even if we could!" McCree yelled.

In his mind, McCree slammed desperately through the court, through the hallways, up the stairs to the hot little storage room. To a trunk with his name carved in the lid and a good lock he'd paid a lot of money for.

"And who was it that shot the inquisitor?"

"I didn't want you here!"

"Will you two shut the hell up?!"

Lucio's voice, so furious that it cut through McCree's anger and apparently Hanzo's as well, silenced them both. The chains rattled for a few more seconds, then there was silence.

McCree blinked at Lucio, who still had his head cocked, still looking slightly unfocused but angry now, really angry. McCree shut his mouth, ducked his head and picked up Peacekeeper off the stone floor. When he peeked out from under his hat brim Hanzo was watching him, studying Peacekeeper with his head tipped down.

Then McCree heard what he hadn’t before, and froze.

Underground, but not far away, a huge, beastial roar made something low in his gut go cold. The hair on the back of his neck went up. His hand tightened around Peacekeeper, he saw Hanzo's scales lift even more defensively.

Lucio gave an emphatic nod and the light under his feet went from yellow to green.

McCree had a moment, too late, much too late, to realize what that meant, and then Lucio was gone. There was a fizzing arc of green light curving through the guard house and a blast of music, and then the silence was shattered as Lucio burst out into the sunshine.

At least thirty rifles fired at once, two cannon’s went off, and the roar of dozen of people yelling at once made McCree reel.

McCree and Hanzo stared at the little side door to the guard house when the next round of firing went off. More people shouted. Orders were being barked at cross purposes.

For an instant, Hanzo and McCree looked at each other, and then there was yet another volley of rifle fire, more shouting, frantic and scared and angry and then another crackle of rifles that meant Lucio wasn’t dead yet. McCree leant forwards, left hand reaching up for Hanzo as he began to run. He half expected Hanzo to dart away from him, fight him, even snap at him again, but instead, Hanzo arched instantly into McCree's hand and allowed himself to be brought down. His little claws bit into McCree's shoulders as they ran straight through into the guard house and skidded around the corner, then Hanzo wrapped himself safely around McCree's neck.

Hanzo's scales were pearl smooth, his fur was feathery soft by the time they broke out into the court.

McCree breathed out, relief hitting him at the same moment as the sunshine.

Music rang louder, and McCree saw Lucio, alive and whole, soar over the heads of the confused and furious hunters.

Then McCree froze. Six ballista, not four, and three canons. There were more than fifty hunters in the court, and more then twenty on the walls at the turrets. There were ten platforms with a bloody set of stocks at each lined up down the oval court towards the quarry, and that meant there were ten inquisitors here now, not six.

Well, McCree mentally corrected, thinking of the man whose knuckles had gone white over Hanzo's body. Nine inquisitors.

At least, McCree’s fraying nerves fought for optimism, none of the assembled militia in the court was in the least interested in him. They had their back to the doors as a bright green streak of light and music tore through the air over their heads.

McCree had never see anything like Lucio before, but the more familiar he became with the young man, the less McCree understood about him. Lucio was moving faster than McCree had ever seen anyone move, skating along the Opinicon's walls, bloody and panting but perfectly hale and dodging bullets by sheer speed and fearlessness as he pushed on towards the back edge of the court. He was jumping from wall to stocks to the edge of the inquisitors braziers, his speed only growing, the green light shifting to yellow at times, then back to green and speeding up again.

He was the best distraction McCree could never have imagined to ask for.

No one gave a damn about McCree. A familiar state of affairs and a useful one.

He kept Peacekeeper up and out and pulled his collar up around Hanzo and walked straight into the assorted hunters pushing towards Lucio.

Hanzo's flanks went hard with tension, but he kept low and quiet, hidden as a neckerchief under McCree's collar.

"Look around," McCree murmured to him over the shouting, the gunfire, the clatter of the turrets ratcheting frantically around, Lucio's music and the shoving, wild eyed hunters trying to aim for Lucio. "They ain't gonna notice me in this. They're all like me."

Every hunter here was a dusty mess in old riding clothes, leather and rough cotton and patches on everything, everyone just as sun-stained and bashed up as he was. The guns were the only things in this court that shone.

Hanzo growled. His head was just under McCree's ear, and he leaned up to hiss at him. "They are nothing like you."

The golden fur was so soft and fine under McCree's ear, for a moment he forgot himself, forgot where he was, and had to bully himself to keep pushing his way through hunters wild with the want to kill, tracking Lucio around the court.

There was a constant fire now, hunters and inquisitors trying to hit a moving target. Lucio was darting like a sparrow from walls to stocks and over to the roofs of some of the out buildings, and back up to the walls. Speeding up, slowing down, but always moving, working his way through the court. Stone dust and bullet fragments and adobe were smashed up like a comet tail behind him.

They weren't all misses though, Lucio was straining to keep pushing on, blood on his bare arms and over his clothes, splattering blood in arcs as his locs whipped around when he twisted in his jumps. He was having to favour the yellow healing light more often, making him slower and easier to hit.

McCree pushed on a little faster, hunters all around him, silver bars of the inquisitors flashing in his eyes. He barely had any idea what Lucio was doing or why but he had to hope they were working towards the same thing.

Anyone of the people he was pushing past could realize who he was, notice Hanzo around his neck, could kill them both.

He found himself cradling Hanzo's curved flank with his left hand.

Which was why he felt Hanzo jerk forwards, nearly darting from around McCree's neck when Lucio took a bullet to the neck, screamed, and fell from the wall. The hunters gave a roar of appreciation and pressed in enmasse towards where he’d fallen.

McCree held Hanzo tighter to him, holding on and forcing his way through the crowd.

"Don't," McCree begged, his voice was hoarse.

"Lucio," Hanzo was struggling against his hand, trying to swim up, pull away from McCree.

"The ballista," McCree hissed back, He was moving so fast that the hunters pushing towards Lucio were shooting him curious, angry galances. Someone was going to realize who he was.

"I have to get him," Hanzo pulled away again almost frantic. "He was Genji's..."

"He's going to be fine," McCree hoped to god that was true. He couldn't let Hanzo go. He couldn't possibly let Hanzo leave the tiny, fragile protection McCree could offer him. Not if it meant the ballista had a target to kill. Not if this crush of blood thirsty hunters would get something new to shoot at. Couldn’t let Hanzo take that risk. Not even for Lucio.

Over the noise and chaos of the court, McCree heard Lucio's voice crack out, unnaturally loud.

" _Get back_!"

Hanzo jerked out again, nearly getting out of McCree's hand.

"No, Hanzo, stay with me," McCree was nearly at the edge of the quarry, and another gut freezing roar echoed up. A few loose pebbles on the edge of the open maw shuddered. "Hanzo, please."

Lucio surfaced through the hunters in a blaze of green light going yellow as he gained momentum. He was wild eyed and bloody and pushing through the crush of hunters like a hockey player, low and fast, then then jumping high and skating up to get out of reach. He left yellow light sparking in a trail when he caught the edge of the wall again.

Alive and bloody and heading straight for the quarry, just like McCree hoped. Hanzo relaxed, barely.

"Hey!"

A hand closed on McCree's shoulder and the hard muzzle of a gun pushed into his back. McCree didn’t breathe. He caught Lucio’s eye through the chaos around them. He cupped Hanzo more safely into the crook of his shoulder. The voice behind him was shocked, rough with cigars and a life of moonshine and a lot of fury.

“McCree,” Hanzo snarled softly, fighting to get loose, get airborne, struggling against McCree’s left hand holding him safely in place.

"You ain't one of ours, you're that McCree. I remember you. Hey!" A loud, crowing voice that meant McCree was going to die here. "You guys weren’t talkin’ shit! It's Little Jesse McCree!!"

McCree couldn't turn, couldn't move, and three more hunters turned and bared their teeth and brought their pistols and rifles up towards him. Lucio was closer now, still too far though, still bloody and hurt and McCree was going to die here. Hanzo was going to die here-

“McCree!” Hanzo clawed at McCree’s shoulder, fighting to get out from under McCree’s hand.

“No,” McCree heard himself say, struggling to keep Hanzo down, keep him hidden. He’d survive this if McCree could just cover him, keep him from this…

Hanzo finally tore himself out from under McCree's hand, darting small and quick, a blue and gold arrow, that shot directly into one hunter's face, teeth and claws leading.

One hunter yelped, snatched his gun up, fired as Hanzo reached him.

A flash of blue glittering scales, dark blood, McCree’s eyes went wide and the gun in his back clicked-

"-Break it down!"

McCree was wondering how the hell he had managed to die so close to home after all, was watching Hanzo’s long body jerk away, was waiting for the hammer of the pistol in his back to fall. Then Lucio tore out from among the hunters bloody and radiant. He jumped high, and turned as he began to fall, right hand thrusting down before him trailing green and yellow fire.

The moment his hand hit the ground a thunder of noise and music roared out from him, a green and yellow wave of sound that washed out and rocked against the walls of the court.

The gun pressed to McCree’s spine fired. Three other hunters pulled their triggers, aiming for his guts, his ribs, his heart, but not Hanzo, so that was alright, it was all--.

Four pistols fired, and McCree took a moment before he realized he wasn’t dead, and saw blood and bright scales falling. He had work to do. Hanzo was hurt.

He moved, kicked back into the hunter who still held their gun to his spine, and turned, Peacekeeper already reaching for a heartbeat to silence. McCree found rolling green light armouring his skin, already cracked and breaking open, but he took another bullet to his shoulder and felt no pain, and then the hunter who had grabbed him died wide eyed and terrified. The hunters who'd closed in around him scattered out, staring at Hanzo in terror, staring at McCree take five bullets in quick succession without apparently noticing.

"Down here!" Lucio streaked past with his locs flying out behind him, and dove down the pit, a lance of green light into the darkness.

"Hanzo!" McCree found his voice, shot another hunter, already reaching up with his left hand, blindly seeking blue and gold. He felt desperate as he looked into the melee around him,  needing to know that Hanzo was still small and soft enough for McCree to protect, small enough that McCree wouldn't be afraid of him.

"Follow Lucio," Hanzo's voice, and then a weight in his left hand that ran up and around his left arm to his neck. Blood was warm on McCree’s neck. Hanzo shuddered.

McCree tore out from amid the hunters who'd begun closing in on him again, tucked Hanzo a little more tightly around his neck, took two running steps and jumped out into the quarry after Lucio.

There was blackness below him, a riot of hunters and gunsmoke and blood behind him. Hanzo was at his neck though, Lucio still alive.

It was a long fall.

The bars of cages flashed past him on either side and Lucio's light was shining below him and that was the only light down here. He hit the ground with a grunt and barely staggered, instantly rounded on Lucio to either hit him for being a reckless idiot or give him a hug, then stopped cold. He looked around, and then up, at a fall that should most certainly have killed him.

"You're alright," Hanzo said under his ear. "You're with me."

"Sure," McCree said stupidly, and then he'd recovered enough to find Lucio grinning hugely at him through the low green light at the bottom of the pit.

"I told you," Lucio said, delighted and grinning at Hanzo, then McCree in turn.

"You goddamn, fool hearty," McCree started, panting, thinking of Lucio darting out the door into a firing squad.

"They're alive!" The shout from above cut him off, and McCree and Lucio both flattened themselves to the solid cage door at the floor of the pit as bullets began whining down around them.

In what looked like an automatic panic response, Lucio's hand moved, and the light went yellow to green. "Whoops, nope," and back to yellow.

"What were you thinkin'?" McCree wasn't even angry anymore, he couldn’t seem to pull his left hand from around Hanzo, "And the hell did you do just now?”

"You're welcome for that," Lucio said pleasantly, as bullets cracked and thundered down around them. The floor of the pit was filling up with rock chips and dust.

"Yes, that, what--"

McCree rocked forwards as the loudest roar he'd ever heard in his life thundered out from directly behind him.

Just as he recovered, turning, something huge smashed the door at his back, and the force and weight and fury of the hit made the steel jerk against its stone moorings. He felt his heart jerk in abject terror.

"We're coming!" Lucio yelled happily at the door. "Hang on buddy!"

"Lucio!" Hanzo had his little fore claws planted on McCree's collar bone, neck sticking out indignantly, mane doubled in size. "Explain!"

"I'll show you. McCree," Lucio looked from Hanzo to McCree and spoke with ominous calm, "Open the door."

McCree started from Lucio, to the shuddering lock he was pointing at, down to Hanzo, back to Lucio in a gross double take, then back to Hanzo. The door shook as something behind it roared and slammed against it. A few pieces of rock trickled down from the walls. Bullets peppered down, nearly getting close to hitting them. The hunters up top might learn to aim eventually.

Hanzo as much as shrugged. Lucio kept smiling. Above them, the armed malitia was circling the quarry, finding better angled to rain bullets down at them. A voice on the other side of the cage door called, "In your own time, love!" in a pleasant accent.

McCree was absolutely finished with this. He aimed Peacekeeper down at the beleaguered lock, and fired.

Lucio jumped back just in time for the entire cage door to jerk outward, tearing half the hinges out of the stone. A mass of fur and armor bounded past them in a crackle of red lightning, slammed it's fists on the floor of the quarry and launched upwards. Fire burst from it's back, thick and hot and with so much force it knocked McCree back a step.

The hunters at the edge of the quarry screamed, all the ballista fired at once, a cannon went off with a _thoom_ that made the loose rocks at McCree's feet shake. The smell of the explosion wafted down with the smoke.

The monster at the top of the pit roared again, landed with a slam that rocked a few hunters off their feet, and then the armoured beast leaned forward into the crowd of hunters, roared, and McCree began to hear some meaty sounding thumps. More screams, and no more shots rained down at them.

"Cheers!"

A flash of blue light, and a whip thin girl in clothes almost as bright as Lucio's stood before him.

"Thanks love, that was well timed! You with Lucio? Oh Hanzo! You're adorable!"

Hanzo hissed as the girl reached up to pet him. Apparently petting Hanzo was the first instinct of all right thinking people when they saw him like this.

"Howdy," McCree heard himself say. His hand tipped his hat for him.

"Race you!" Lucio was dancing in place on the spiralling ramp that fed the quarry it's foot traffic.

"You're on!" The girl turned, beaming.

She must have been Lucio's age, a pale thing with brown hair and a glass plate over her eyes and a odd harness strapped to her chest with blue fire inside it. She was a head shorter than McCree as she stood before him, and then abruptly, she vanished. She left a blue line of light in her wake and reappeared past Lucio and accelerating up the ramp. Lucio whooped and darted around, green light flashing under his feet as he chased out her up and out into the daylight. The girl kept flickering out of place, reappearing ahead of where she had been and forcing Lucio to pass her again.

McCree watched silently as two seconds went by, and Lucio and the girl burst out into the sunshine.

Above them, the roar of the armoured monster echoed up the walls of the Opinicon and down into the quarry, and the unhappy population above them kept screaming. Two cannons went off in quick succession to each other and a hail of bullets cracked out. Lucio's music echoed down into the pit and McCree could hear the flicker when the girl jumped ahead of herself.

Hanzo still had his little claws planted on McCree's collar bone, neck stretched out and up. They were both craning their heads back to look up at the rough circle of bright sky above them.

For the space of a few breaths, McCree and Hanzo said nothing, caught their breath, and listened to about seventy hunters screaming, an armoured monster roaring, Lucio's music ringing against the walls, and the girl yelling "Whee!!"

"Not sure I know what all that was about," McCree remarked.

"My brother," Hanzo's voice was low with something between irritation and admiration.

"More favoured?" McCree suggested.

"I don't know," Hanzo foofed up his fur. No points in it though, so probably just annoyed instead of irritated. "I can't keep track of his favoured, he's embarrassingly indiscriminate."

From above them, there a roar, and several people screamed as there was another failing crackle of gunfire. At least one of the turrets had reloaded and a ballista fired.

"Indiscriminate huh?" McCree mused. He felt no compunction to go up and kill more of his order. Anyway it hardly seemed necessary, Lucio and his friends seemed to be having fun. "Where does he find folk like this?"

“If I knew I would avoid them.”

“That’s a little cold. Hanzo.” McCree tried to draw Hanzo out from around his neck. “You took a hit a second ago, you ok now?”

“I’m fine,” Hanzo growled, locking himself in place.

"Hey."

For the second time that day, a hand closed on his shoulder and McCree jerked away and turned, Peacekeeper already aiming.

The woman behind the bars of another cage blinked at him, perfectly still. She was thin and dirty, her hands covered in blood, though they seemed whole and unhurt. Which was unusual for things kept in the quarry.

McCree remembered Lucio down here for a while, the yellow healing light glinting under his feet.

"Let me out of here, you freed them," she pointed to the torn open door behind him. "I need to get out of here."

"Ma'am I'd be happy to," McCree tipped his hat because whatever this woman was here for, it was certainly because she was a magic user of some description, and that she was in a cage in the quarry meant she was too dangerous to be killed quickly. The Inquisitors had wanted to study her. "But things up there are a mite unsettled at present and..."

A roar that shook dust from the walls echoed down the pit, and McCree, Hanzo, and the prisoner looked up in time to see three assorted hunters sail over the edge of the quarry, silhouetted against the bright sky above them for a moment, and fall with an undignified thump at McCree's feet.

One of them groaned, still holding her rifle, and began to drag herself upright.

McCree adroitly shot the lock off the prisoner's cage door. "Run for it," he advised briefly, and began loping up the spiralling ramp up to the court.

After a realization, he shot the locks off any cage door he passed where the occupant was in reasonable health and standing, remembering that Lucio's music only seemed to affect things who were somehow allied with him. Hunters and inquisitors fell past him screaming, knocked in by the armoured monster or by Lucio's concussive little blasts.

When he reached the rim of the pit, Hanzo started up, flying away just as McCree reached instinctively to hold him back, keep him low and protect him.

When McCree's hand cupped around Hanzo's flank, he'd already settled back, low and small and tense around McCree's neck. McCree felt hot from the relief of having him safe, having him close. Hanzo shuddered under his hand, then kept himself still.

“We need to disarm the turrets,” Hanzo called up into McCree’s ear.

The court was a disaster. Every set of stocks were broken, an outbuilding was flattened and burning sluggishly, the assorted turrets around on the walls of the court were taking aim and firing as soon as they were loaded. The huge monster in armor was crackling with red lightning, jumping with a burst of fire every few seconds and knocking hunters away from him with both huge arms. Lucio and the quicksilver girl were there too, on either side of him, Lucio attacking any hunter he could see with the bright, thundering little blasts, and the girl with a pair of tiny, sleek pistols. Every second or so, she spun them back in her hands and they flickered with blue light, then she resumed firing.

Hanzo was right though, with a target as huge as the armoured monsters, and fewer hunters to risk hitting by accident, the turrets were the problem. As a confirmation, three fired simultaneously, and McCree kept one hand up and dodge rolled away just as one bolt clattered past where he’d been. The monster snated a bolt out of mid air, slammed it to one side and roared defiance that made at least one hunter start to cry. The third bolt however, struck the quicksilver girl while she was in mid stride, drove straight through her narrow waist, and nailed her to the wall like a butterfly under glass.

The force of it knocked her hair up, she dropped her pistols and McCree had a vision of her eyes wide and terrified behind her glass face plate.

McCree jerked up from his crouch, reaching to find someone to shoot, something for Peacekeeper to do while he felt so useless. That had either been the best aimed shot of the century, or a stupidly lucky one.

The girl flickered in place, flashed blue and reappeared a step behind where she'd been before the bolt found her.

"Whew," she spun her pistols around her hands, "Close one."

"To hell with that," McCree's mind rebelled from what he'd just seen. He was a man with a six shooter and a stetson who had mastered reloading when he rolled over his shoulder. Wherever Hanzo's brother had found people like this, it was nowhere McCree had ever seen.

The hunters that saw the girl's escape from impalement shrank away, apparently agreeing with McCree. The fight, such as it was, was turning. The few people who McCree had freed from the pit where making a break for the siege doors, lashing out if they were attacked, splintering the focus of the hunters. The monster in armour, Lucio and the quicksilver girl began herding the hunters and inquisitors back, pushing them down the court and into the quarry, letting the freed prisoners run past them. The hunters were backing, terrified, some tumbling past McCree and jumping into the pit before the monster or Lucio could boop them in.

McCree felt like all that was going well, so turned aside, and loped up stairwell to the wall tops.

He killed seven hunters at their turrets before the rest surrendered, and with the ballista disabled and the hunters trooping down the stairs in an orderly, terrified fashion, McCree waved them down into the pit with the rest. The hunters and surviving inquisitors were creeping into the cages up and down the quarry like they were grateful for the protection.

McCree was surprised to find the huge monster had shrunk a little somehow, and now was fully recognizable as a gorilla in armor with a backpack that burst with fire whenever he jumped. Almost more alarmingly, he was wearing spectacles, and now carrying the largest and least lethal looking gun McCree had ever seen.

It took a while, but at McCree's direction, the gorilla and he were able to swing down the grate that covered the mouth of the quarry, and lock it over the heads of the surviving hunters and inquisitors.

McCree wasn't sure he was imagining the sigh of relief when the lock clicked, and effectively left the hunters and the gorilla on opposite sides of a very sturdy grate of iron and steel.

"Now then," McCree rubbed his sweaty face. It was hot in the sunshine.

"Pleased to meet you, call me Tracer."

When he pulled his hand away from his face, the girl was standing right in front of him with her hand out, smiling up at him with genuine pleasure for the meeting.

"McCree," McCree shook hands, because that was automatic and he didn't have to think about how he'd seen this girl brutally run through a few minutes ago. "Real pleasure."

"This is Winston," she introduced the massive gorilla.

McCree looked up at him. "Howdy," He said, mouth still running on automatic.

"Hi there," The gorilla said pleasantly. His enormous hand engulfed McCree's with about four times the amount of palm a human could readily expect from a handshake.

McCree was not expecting to shake hands with a talking gorilla today, but he was pleased that the gorilla had a friendly handshake. Especially since it was perfectly obvious that Winston could crush McCree's hand into juice if he wished.

"Friends of mine," Lucio said, delighted and looking no worse for all the bullets that had found him in the last encounter as Tracer hooked an arm around his shoulders for a side hug.

“Friends of yours,” McCree echoed. He still had his left hand around Hanzo’s flank, cupping him to the crook of his neck and shoulder.

Hanzo uncoiled a little from around McCree’s neck, claws set on his collarbone and neck extended, head held out. “Explain.”

McCree let out a long breath. They were standing in the ruins of the broken court of the Opinicon with a crush of beaten hunters in a hole under a grate behind him and a gorilla and a girl who could shake off being impaled by a ballista bolt had a lot to explain. The sun was hot on McCree’s back and there were dead bodies lying where they’d dropped.

Tracer opened her mouth to comply and and McCree held up a hand with an expression that might have seemed pained. Tracer shut her mouth.

“Explain,” McCree clarified, “in the shade.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be posted January 3, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!  
> Please excuse all the horribly embarrassing grammar and spelling mistakes. They're all my fault for now, but there will be edits posted shortly! I foolishly left my poor beta reader on one hell of a short window for which I am sorry.  
> If you have a care to, I'm on [Tumblr](http://leoandlancer.tumblr.com)! Please come by and say hi if you like.  
> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this. <3


	8. Some Damn Monster Hunter

They settled in shade of an awning on the roof above the gate house. There was a ring of chairs up on the wall top, some cards blowing off a crate in the middle with a few bottles of something home brewed holding down someone's excellent hand. Clearly look out had been a relaxing post recently. Below them, the siege gates had been thrown wide open by some enterprising escapees, and McCree idly wished them well as he looked out over the empty plains.

"This was great timing love! How'd you find us?" Tracer was sitting cross-legged and looking delighted on her chair, beaming at Lucio.

"Find you? Why are you here?" Lucio was sitting beside her, perched like he was about to spring up at any moment, his hands on his knees.

McCree leaned against the parapet off the outerwall, one hand up around Hanzo’s side, the other resting on his belt. Tracer was talking fast and familiar to Lucio, a high speed, technical babble McCree didn't pay the slightest attention to. He was too busy studying the armour over the gorilla, the harness strapped to Tracer. The blue light inside looked unnervingly alive. Nothing about either of them looked like they came from here, nothing about either of them looked mundane. They looked much more like Lucio than like McCree.

"...Came back to now!" Tracer was saying.

McCree tuned back into the conversation with a sick jolt in his gut.

"You came back in time?" McCree asked. It was possible he didn't sound a desperate as he felt, but if he did he didn't notice.

"Sure," Winston nodded. He had declined a chair, and sat with his enormous, non-lethal looking gun beside him. Even sitting in the mercurial shadows of the patched and fraying awning, he was almost as tall as Lucio and Tracer were in their chairs. "Tracer and I were looking for something a mutual friend requested information about, and we traced what I could find out to here, but uhh.." Winston paused, and took a moment to study McCree.

McCree stared blankly back, his mouth open slightly in absolute incomprehension.

"This is his timeline," Hanzo supplied, standing out from McCree's collar bone. "It's his geographic and chronal origin."

Winston pulled a jar of peanut butter out from under the edge of his backpack and fastidious opened it. He scooped a double fingerful of peanut butter out, watching McCree all the time. “Fascinating.”

"Smashing," Tracer agreed. Then went on to remark, "Hanzo, you really are adorable like that. So, if you three’re here, you know all about this place! We didn't. We came back because when we were in our time line on this world was about two hundred and fifty years too late for anything useful so we jumped back, not sure if this is right either though." She looked at Winston, who was still watching McCree with dark, thoughtful eyes. "We get something wrong with the jump big guy?"

McCree counted himself fortunate to have not understood a word of that. Apart from Hanzo being adorable, which perfectly accurate.

"Possibly," Winston diplomatically allowed, going back to his peanut butter.

McCree let out a breath now that Winston's unexpected scrutiny was removed from him.

"Well, we arrived but when we did we showed up pretty well exactly where we're standing now," Tracer grinned a little ruefully, and Lucio laughed. "Thought we would be stuck here for ages, then you showed up!"

"How long were you here?" Lucio was still snickering, grinning at Tracer with her arm around his shoulders.

She shrugged, "Couple of hours. Why?"

"You're looking into Ōmukade," McCree realized. "For Genji."

Winston put his peanut butter down and regarded him in polite silence. McCree realized he shouldn't have said anything when he felt Hanzo's long body tense up around his neck.

"Sure are," Tracer looked pleased not to have to explain that. Now they were all in this together, at least in her mind. "Are you too?"

"McCree is a monster hunter," Hanzo explained shortly. "I've made a deal with him to kill Ōmukade."

Tracer whistled. "Good luck, I ain't seen it, but when I talked to Genji he said..."

"Yes, returning to that,” Hanzo cut across her, “When did you talk to Genji and how much did he tell you of our affairs?”

"Mm," Tracer looked up, one slender finger on her pointed chin. "Guess that was midsummer's day? Yeah, I was planning on going to the fete so..."

"No, I mean _when_..." Hanzo started, then stopped himself.

"Oh right," Tracer blinked at him, and paused in thought.

They all shared a collective moment of uncertainty, trying to pinpoint a time in a past that wasn't shared.

"Well it was before he brought me back to Rio. Right?" Lucio took a plunge, "He told me he was going to ask Winston and you about it, but that was... Right after Ōmukade arrived in Hanamura. So right after Shimada Castle was taken?"

"Before our fight," Hanzo growled. He seemed to shrink down against McCree's collar again.

"You had a fight?" Tracer cocked her head at Hanzo.

“They had two fights. Genji's-," Lucio said, and then was cut off.

Hanzo hissed so viciously even McCree jumped a little. “It was necessary!”

Tracer and Winston both looked from the furrious Hanzo to Lucio, Tracer's mouth was hanging open. McCree instinctively shielded Hanzo a little more securely with his left hand.

"Genji and Hanzo didn't agree on what to do with Ōmukade," Lucio ground on, sounding remorseless, he wasn’t looking at any of them, his eyes were on the excellent hand someone had left under their bottle.

McCree wanted to back a step to bring Hanzo out of this.

"Genji wanted to find a monster hunter, he'd already gathered his favoured,” Lucio went on into the quiet. “He wanted to attack Ōmukade outright in the castle. Hanzo--"

Lucio was cut off as Hanzo spoke up again, rising with his scales and mane rucked out around him. "I told him it was suicide to attack Ōmukade head on in the castle our ancestors built as a _fortress_." Hanzo hissed. "I told him a siege is only of benefit when you're the one being besieged. I told him it was better to rely on stealth, harry him on his flanks, hurt him, make him splinter his attention, before finding an exploitable weakness."

"Which he might not have," Lucio said, exasperated. “And in the meantime, giving him more time to get entrenched! To terrorize _your_ people!”

"Everything it eats gives it power," Hanzo snapped his jaws at Lucio, "Did you know that? What would he gain if he ate Genji or I? Or any of you!" Hanzo flicked his tail, feather light fur trailing gold in the dimness under the ratty awning. .

McCree kept still, partly because Hanzo was on a tear and he didn't want to bring the tirate low by anything as undignified as jostling him, and partly because Winston hadn't stopped studying him. The attention was starting to make him anxious. And lastly, he hadn't moved because Hanzo's fur and scales were still perfectly soft and smooth against his neck, and McCree guiltily didn't want to bring any attention to that either. He didn't want that to stop.

"Yes, I know that," Lucio started then stopped, changing tack abruptly. "The point is," Lucio went on, hardly losing any momentum, "Hanzo and Genji had one fight, and Genji ran when he realized Hanzo wasn't going to just beat him or just keep him away, Hanzo was going to kill him. He didn't want his favoured stranded in Hanamura without him, so he ran."

"Ran from a fight? Genji did? With you and Angela and Zen all healing him at once?" Tracer's voice was light, but there was a note there that made Winston snort. It was the first time Winston had looked away from McCree in what felt like an age.

"Yes," Lucio looked flustered for what could have been the first time McCree had ever seen. "Yes, Angela was with him and... Listen the important thing is he tried to bring us all home to our own worlds and time lines where we could be safe from Ōmukade and Hanzo. Except as soon as he got me into Rio and went back for Zen, he died."

Winston dropped his peanut butter. Tracer stared. For the first time, she went perfectly still.

Hanzo growled, a low thunder that vibrated between Hanzo's scales and McCree's neck. The court was quiet, the rabble from the pit a low disconsolate white noise no one cared about. Tracer and Winston had both gone still. A hawk soared overhead, the shadow crossing over the court below them.

"You really killed Genji?" Tracer's voice sounded small. She was looking up at Hanzo with pained disbelief.

"He was going to attack Ōmukade head on," Hanzo snarled out each word with careful decision. "He would lose. Once Ōmukade consumed him, there would be no telling how much greater his power could have become. I wasn't willing to allow Genji to take that risk, and endanger all of us. I told him that. He chose to fight me rather than see sense."

McCree kept very, very still. Hanzo was trembling slightly, against his neck and shoulders, under his left hand. It was so slight, he doubted anyone else could have noticed it.

"How'd you know?" McCree asked Lucio, his mouth was working on a question his mind had been turning over for some time. "How'd you know Genji died? You said you were in Rio."

Lucio absently rubbed his chest, over his heart. "Felt it," He shrugged. "You know what I mean. We can feel it when our dragons are hurt or dying."

McCree felt the blood drain out of his face. He suddenly felt cool and slightly shivery.

"When I shot the man that was holdin' tight to Hanzo," McCree heard himself speaking from a distance. "I didn't mean to do that."

Hanzo went perfectly still around his neck.

"Yeah," Lucio nodded emphatically, "Like that. Favoured protect their dragons, that runs deeper than instinct."

McCree remembered the pain that had shattered open inside his chest, panic and fury and a hateful, vengeful drive he'd never felt before moving his hands, moving to Hanzo. He wondered what Lucio had felt in Rio, watching his dragon leave him, heading back to a dangerous land and then...

McCree found he was absently scrubbing one hand over his heart, imagining the pain.

"Favoured," McCree murmured to himself.

The tip of Hanzo's tail flicked up under his jaw, a soft touch, like a question.

McCree barely tightened his left hand over Hanzo, maybe it was an answer.

"So..." Tracer looked lost. "You killed him though. Your brother's dead because..."

"He would have fed Ōmukade's power with his recklessness," Hanzo growled.

"He might have won," Lucio slipped the comment in, fast and mean. Something he was sure Hanzo had been thinking of too. "If you'd just helped him like he asked."

"Risk everything on that chance? All our people, all our lands, and all of you, Genji's favoured?" Hanzo's voice was low and furious, fur and mane up. "It would have destroyed all hope if we had presented Ōmukade with all the potential power to make him larger and more unstoppable then we could imagine. And don't forget," Hanzo snarled out, teeth showing as Lucio rose up to argue. "Genji and I couldn't kill the scouts with our guardians, most of our power is useless against him."

Lucio deflated, and Winston looked around with interest.

"Your spirit guardians had no effect? Fascinating."

McCree breathed out with Winston's attention on someone else, even if that someone was only a few inches under his chin. Standing in the scrutiny of a gorilla in fire-powered armour that turned into a giant of rage and red lightning who happened to have a remarkably articulate turn of phrase, was a little alarming.

Hanzo's fur rucked up a little further, riled at this discussion of his inability to protect his homeland. "No," he hissed. "I can break them apart. But that's hardly worth my time."

McCree barely caught sight of Lucio rolling his eyes.

"But why are you here Lucio? I mean you know why we're _here_ here but," Tracer tipped her head and smiled from Lucio to McCree and back in friendly interest. “Why did you come to this fort place thing?”

"Opinion," McCree supplied.

"That a hotel? The title on this place?"

"It's a..." McCree stopped himself. Reeling at the hole in society that would exist without Opinicons. "They're a fortress made for defending against monsters?"

Winston ate another scoop of peanut butter and watched McCree with more interest than McCree was comfortable with.

"They're all over the place," Lucio waved off an entire global and historical institution of their shared world. "Point is, folks from Hanamura were rounded up, put in the dunge-- The _exquisite_ undercroft of the Shimada's _elegant_ castle," Lucio said, his voice flipping from easy explanation to utter exasperation as Hanzo jerked out from McCree's neck again, standing with his claws digging into his collarbone again and hissing.

"Oh no, that's a shame," Tracer frowned, "So you moving them here?"

"That's the plan," Lucio cocked his head at McCree. "McCree's idea, he's from this part of the world."

"It's a fortified area, close to town, with food and water stores, weapons, a good place to stash people until we can clear out the village, retake the castle, kill Ōmukade." McCree said, trying to downplay the fact that it had also been bursting with blood thirsty people with weapons and the propensity to use them at all times. He totally ignored the fact that he'd needed to come here for something very specific.

" _Can_ you kill Ōmukade?" Winston talked around a mouthful of peanut butter. He didn't sound snide, just curious.

McCree shrugged. "I guess. I shot the little ones and they died pretty easy."

"He can," Hanzo was dismissive of that.

Winston cocked his head, though Tracer nodded pleasantly at the idea.

"We gotta search the place, take command of the turrets," McCree was having to work to sound casually competent.  Winston's quiet attention was getting under his skin. "Find the food, water, folly."

"What?" Lucio and Tracer looked at him in unison.

"Cash," McCree supplied. He made a circle of his finger and thumb, "About that big and square, gold coins, with the King's seal stamped into them."

"Sound heavy," Tracer said.

"Sure are, nice secure kind of weight. Like ballast." McCree brushed the backs of his fingers under Hanzo's belly as he looked down at him. "You reckon you can check the turrets? Lucio, you and Tracer seem pretty quick, scout out and see if there's any folk hiding in any of the rooms, find any locked doors and bust 'em open. Search the place, Lucio keep an eye out for anything the Hanamurans will need. Winston," McCree looked up at the gorilla who gazed calmly back at him. McCree's mind was crashing wildly through the halls in his memory. He couldn't think of any order that would shed Winston's attention off him.

"I'd like to come with you," Winston said politely.

"Sure," said McCree, because when a one tonne gorilla says he'd like to accompany you, it's not only rude to decline, it's stupid. Anyway there was a chance Winston might be adequately distracted if properly baited. "I could use your help going through storage. Could be something useful there."

Tracer and Lucio both nodded and they looked excited at the prospect of a run around the huge fort. Hanzo shook out his mane as McCree rose, and he began to drift up and away. McCree remembered, with horrifying suddenness, that a fair few of the hunters in the caged pit still had their weapons.

"Careful," McCree reached up to Hanzo, instinctive and quick and unable to stop himself. "Hunter's still armed down there, don't give them a line of fire, you hear?"

Hanzo was out of reach, but paused, and floated back down to put his little fore claws on the tips of McCree's fingers, and nodded.

"That goes for you too, y'hear?" McCree hefted his hand gently, sending Hanzo back up, and looking sternly at Lucio and Tracer.

"Roger!" Tracer saluted smartly.

"Sure," Lucio shrugged, skating backwards over the top of the wall towards the stairs to the court. "Avoid the murderers in a hole with guns. No problem there."

McCree watched them as they made their way down into the court in an alarmingly short time. It was a disaster area down there, stocks and platforms broken, adobe walls chipped and smashed with bullets and ricocheting ballista. The dead and dying lay where they'd fallen, and Lucio seemed to feel no compulsion to do anything about it. McCree was willing to bet he hadn't taken any kind of hippocratic oath.

“So," Winston was still sitting, huge and strangely animal in his apparent patience. "You want to go through storage?"

"Sure," McCree said absently, and watched as Hanzo darted through the afternoon sunshine towards the first of the disarmed turrets. Hanzo stood out against the sky, a brighter blue, the gold of his fur and horns catching the light.

He caught himself rubbing his chest, bloody, ripped clothing dry and dusty at last in the heat of New Mexico. There was no pain watching Hanzo now. Nothing that was remotely like what there had been.

McCree turned and cocked his head at Winston. "Shall we?"

Winston followed him, knuckling amiably along as McCree followed the well worn halls from his memory. The Opinicon's sleeping quarters, kitchens, storage, armory, church and meeting hall were all built into the walls that guarded the place. Apart from a few buildings in the court with some truly creative tools reserved for inquisitor use only, and stabling outside the walls on the sheltered headland to the north, the walls were where the hunters lived. The entire building was a seventy foot wide serpent, eating it's own tail, with the court in the centre, and the turrets guarding from above.

It was dirtier than he remembered, or possibly, he had been selective in what he'd chosen to remember. He could remember building this place. He'd remembered defending it. Remembered taking tea with the sheriff and her friend the engineer. He'd been trying to remember a place that hadn't become such a huge mistake.

"So Tracer and you travelled through time?" McCree asked the question in what he hoped passed for casual. They were deep into the north side of the wall now, making their way up a staircase barely wider than McCree.

"Yes," Winston said amiably, he was having to go sideways up the narrow stairs, but didn't seem to mind. "Genji asked for our help and it was an interesting problem. I can't say it was a simple matter, but Tracer suffers from chronal disassociation and the harness I created allows her to exist in this timeline, as well as control her place on it. Thus, the harness allows her to blink forward into the space she would have naturally occupied in the future, rewind to where she was in the past, without interfering with the overall timeline as a whole. So, by extrapolating the principal's I discovered in the pursuit of creating her accelerator..."

McCree tuned out the earnest, pleasant, polysyllabic explanation. Whatever Winston was, he was almost childish in his enthusiasm for the subject matter, and clearly, had been tireless to create what sounded like a unique piece of life support for his friend.

McCree couldn't have selected a more worthwhile topic.

Winston talked on, and McCree allowed the incomprehensible talk rise up and flow around him like a tide. He didn't need to know the particulars, but it was always helpful to engage a genius in their particular area of brilliance. It kept Winston's thoughtful attention off him and on his own apparently fairly incredible achievements.

"Why do you ask?" Winston finished his talk and McCree tuned back in just in time.

They were at the door to storage. A brutally hot little room at the end of a disused hall at the top of the narrow stairs on the north wall. It was rarely ever ventured into. The door wasn't locked, and McCree knew that, but still, hesitated before he tried the handle.

"Guess I wondered why you thought you could find anything about Ōmukade out in a one horse town back in this time." McCree said, trying to keep his voice light. The room was dark, no lamps lit, and the stale, stuffy air almost had a physical weight to it it was so hot.

"And in another timeline," Winston said, looking over McCree's head.

He'd tossed that little piece of information out so casually McCree almost missed it. And he stopped in mid stride halfway into the storage room. Winston walked into his back and McCree was forced forwards a few steps to save himself.

"In another few hundred years, this timeline won't lead you to where I'm from," Winston explained, a little apologetically, adjusting his glasses as McCree stared hard at him over his shoulder.

McCree pulled himself together with an effort. "Sure," he said, forestalling any possibility of Winston teaching him literally anything more about multiple timelines. He was a practical man and liked his surroundings to be practical, tangible, _real_.

He took a lamp down from the wall by the door and lit it from one of the matches in the case that hung beside it. The room was narrow and windowless, stuffy with old heat and dust, and long enough the end of the room was out of sight around the natural curve of the wall. It was stacked shoulder high with tin-lined boxes and repurposed orange crates and cheap pine chests and old steamer trunks.

"Woah," Winston looked down the long, curving room. The trunks were piled up until they rounded the curve in the wall and disappeared from view. It was dark past the little glow from his lantern, and shadows leapt out from the haphazard mess along the wall.

"Yeah," McCree agreed.

"So," Winston said as they began picking their way down the room. "What exactly are you looking for?"

"Trunk in here with a lot of old research," McCree said, baiting his trap and trying to sound casual about it. "There's a, oof," He climbed awkwardly over a line of trunks that had tipped over and settled over time. It was awkward to climb over the crazilly leaning crates and through the ankle deep drifts of scattered personal belongings that had spilled out while holding the lamp ahead of him. "There was an engineer who helped build this place, he and the sheriff in town. They started this."

"A sheriff? Started a..." Winston looked slightly embarrassed. "Guerilla band?"

McCree snorted, but let the word play pass him. "And armed them, trained them, gave them money and food and as much whiskey as she could commision the stills to make. The engineer built the turrets, the walls, dug out the quarry. Flower Station was the only town with a 0% unemployment rate while they were around."

"Why?" Winston, McCree was envious to notice, was travelling through the jungle of crates by the simple expedient of swinging from rafter to rafter with hands and feet. Everyone he'd met who'd associated with the dragons had had ridiculously great answers to life's usual questions about how to navigate the obstical course of the day to day adventuring.

"Too many monsters to deal with, for a while," McCree suddenly spotted the crate that the engineer had filled. There was a brand of a gear on the front face, two or three crates stacked over it. They were halfway down the room, out of sight of the door and the far wall and McCree's trunk should be here somewhere in this dim, curving heat. He'd left around when the Engineers stuff was put into storage.

"What kind? Most of the people in that pit back there looked human. ."

"Hardly any monsters now," McCree's heart wrenched when he found it. He barely cared what he was saying. His trunk, painted a dusty red and yellow, chipped and dented and the wood had split from age, he'd made this box when the wood was too young, still green, but he'd been in a hurry...

"But before?" Winston prompted.

"Oh," McCree tore his eyes from it. Only one crate stacked on his trunk. He could move it himself. He lifted the lantern and craned into the darkness towards the back of the room. "They came out of the dark. Just, all at once. Nothing one day, then overnight Flower Station had a monster problem. They came out at night hungry. Tore apart anything they came across, dragged anything living away, no one ever came back."

They had no fire inside them, McCree thought, and frowned, brought up short when he remembered.

"There it is," McCree let his eyes focus on the engineers trunk, and pointed. "Engineer kept notes on everything that got turned in. I guess he got some mighty bad headaches but journaled a lot. Thoughtful sort of fella."

"The one with the gear burned on the side?" Winston was already moving, eagerly pulling the stacked up boxes away from the trunk he wanted and tearing the lock open without seeming to notice. Then he paused, this act of vandalism done. "He won't mind?"

McCree gave a brief laugh. He'd been right to be wary of Winston's attention earlier, it was apparently single minded in his quest for information.  "He's not been seen in these parts for seven years. I'm sure he'd be grateful if someone who understand what he did an use what he left behind."

Apparently mollified, Winston opened the crate. It was near bursting-full with stacks of books.

Winston gave a gentle, reverent gasp.

McCree set the lantern down where it could shine over the engineers trunk. and his own. He had tried to read the engineers work, up here in the stuffy hot room seven years ago when he'd stashed his trunk in here. However he'd been stimead due to half the books being written in a language McCree didn't understand, and the other half were about things McCree didn't care about.

Winston settled himself comfortably with a happy sigh, pulled out an old textbook and flipped it open. Every page McCree was able to see was heavily notated in tight, small handwriting. There were diagrams. Math was crammed in around the edges.

McCree turned away in an act of self preservation and eased around the drift of crates that separated his trunk from Winston. "Gonna check to see if the Sheriffs trunk's around here," he called. He didn't take his eyes off the red and yellow trunk he'd built in a hurry seven and some years ago when it started getting bad around here.

His heart was hammering as he cleared the box stacked on his trunk, and it took him a minute to fumble the numbered tumblers around to unlock the lock the engineer had made up for him as a goodbye present. _60-06_ and the lock sprang open with finely engineered precision. McCree spared a moment to look at his own name carved into the top of the box. He'd carved it himself, half expecting the lid to be his tombstone.

He checked on Winston, found the gorilla holding two books open at once and pawing a third one out of the trunk with one foot. He didn't look up as McCree peeked at him.

The smell when he opened the lid was faint but so familiar it punched him in the gut, laid him low with memory and age. He knelt before the open jaws of the trunk. He reminded himself to breathe.

The least important stuff was on top of course. He pulled out the bag of clothes he'd left behind, too big for him when he'd packed this trunk, his younger self had been an optimist. A breastplate his mentor had given him. A few devices the engineer had made for him, small non lethal explosives he’d never tried.

It was a spartan collection under that. It was everything that had been in his room that he hadn't passed on to the hunters he'd liked when he’d packed up to leave. An old sheep skin, a belly band for a pony that hadn't been used in years, a tea cup and saucer in a little crate he'd built for them, stuffed with paper and straw to protect them. He set that aside carefully, looked the old belly band over and took another few breathes.  

A few books the engineer had given him, some technical stuff, information he would have never thought to look for about Peacekeeper. Some novels, blank journals he'd filled with his own writing, a camp cookery book, an atlas of the known world from the engineers personal collection. He'd written McCree's name on the inside cover when he'd given it to him, making a point to show McCree hadn't stolen the valuable book. Some old gun belts he'd been too attached to to throw away when they'd worn out.

Fifteen neatly folded kerchiefs in a pile tied with string...

He stopped. Hands clenched into fists on his knees. Salt water dripped off his nose and splashed against his gloved left hand. He stacked the books up to one side again. Novels he'd read and reread until he couldn't stand the thought of giving them away to a hunter who'd just see them as handy kindling. The first page of the first journal he'd been given was a crowded list of fanciful pen names McCree had imagined adopting when he thought about growing up to be a reporter. The atlas was full of notes now, extra pages added with maps of where McCree would travel when he left the Opinicon.

And he had left. Sort of. Being run out is the same as leaving if you look at the end result. He had traveled to the places in this book.

He lined the books up next to the old holsters, net to the schematic for the six shooter that most resembled Peacekeeper. Next to the belly band.

That made him stop again. He stood quietly, checked on Winston and found the gorilla in a small fortress of books and notes. Somehow, an entire map the size of a mattress had been spread open up the opposite cliff face of crates and Winston was crouched over six open books, looking from the open pages to coloured points on the map.

McCree sneezed in the dusty air, and watched with satisfaction as Winston didn't seem to notice.

Ne knelt again before the open trunk. Took a breath, wiped his cheeks and rubbed his eyes.  

Fifteen kerchiefs neatly folded and tied with string. A girl's hair ribbon in an old envelope. A piece of black glass in a jar. A charred rock chipped by a bullet. A preserved snake's head, sealed in a vile of some horrible liquid. Gold bar wrapped in sacking with a truly incriminating stamp on it.

He set all this aside carefully. Took one more deep, deliberate breath, and leaned back in.

The floor of the trunk was lined with an old horse blanket, and McCree pulled it carefully aside, glanced around, and heard Winston turn a page.

He slid the lid of the false bottom of the trunk open, and dipped one hand carefully inside. His heart was beating hard in his ears, and he didn't know if he would be horrified or relieved to know if what he'd hidden here all that time ago had vanished.

His fingers hit something cold in the warm room in the dark space inside trunk, and he shut his eye for a moment, and didn't breath.

It was smooth, and just out of reach, and it took McCree a minute to fish it out.

It was smaller than he remembered, but McCree remembered carrying under one arm, careful of how heavy it had seemed to a fifteen year old train robber. It had been utterly irresistible to him. Locked in a crate on a locked car of a train crawling with sleepy, annoyed guards and sheriff's deputies. All headed by a tall man in black and an immaculate red headed woman who ordered everyone around with the casual ease of a pathological leader.

McCree could hold it in one hand now, trying and failing to understand the surge and strike of terror and anger and confusion that raked at the inside of his head, made his heart thud panic-fast in his chest. Just like when he was a boy. He'd spent so little time in his life holding this thing. Rode with it for a few minutes before he tossed it to Brenda Jean. Then it had taken him seven years to find it again. Then he'd only kept it long enough to entomb it with the rest of his junk, and now...

He'd spent so long growing old, growing away from this fear, that pain, the never, ever knowing. Now he'd come back here and it had always been right there, right under the surface. Close enough to touch.

He shut his eyes and breathed out hard and for a second the entire night when he'd ridden out with his entire family and came back alone was wrapped around him like a burial shroud. The stark terror and uncertainty and the memory of killing the lawman trapped under his dying horse. The lawman who had _known_ , who had told McCree he was going to hell and that hadn't been a dying man's curse, or a threat.

It had been a warning.

 

* * *

 

McCree strayed from the roads he knew blind in the dark. He wanted to cut across the plains, safe enough in daylight, and he ignored how lethal it had been to the rider’s who had chased him from the train. He ignored his common sense, his experience. He thought of Brenda Jean’s horse, all alone with blood on it’s flank, the empty homestead, the untouched fire, the silence in…

The first time he fell, it was a disaster that nearly blinded him.

He and his horse went down an empty river bed too fast, and his horse stumbled, one hoof driving off a smooth rock and knocking McCree down a dry rapid run. He thought he had blacked out for only a second, but in that time, his horse had fought herself to her feet, found him, and was nickering anxiously over him, alone in the dark with her rider unable to defend her. He got to his feet with blood in his mouth, and only then did he glimpse the pointed rusty nails of a washed out bridge lying inches past where he'd fallen. There was a slash over his mouth, his lips cut open and bleeding. He swallowed hard, tasted blood, and backed away carefully.

He walked his shivering horse out of the dry river bed with his hands hand feeling cold, and together, they set off into the darkness of the plains.

He was a little more careful after that, but really, the gnawing dread that had settled on him in the gorge had simply made him stupid. He had to pause several times, bright points of light spinning past his vision as he looked around, trying to find landmarks, the familiar places he could find in the dark. But everything looked twisted and strange to him, and he trusted the horse as much as himself as he listened for anything, but there were no hoofbeats but his own, no sound but his own panting breaths and the huffing of his exhausted horse. No light but the stars above him.

The second time he fell, it wasn't so bad, his horse stopped suddenly, a hard refusal to take another step, and he was so tired and so distracted he kept going while she didn't. He landed hard on his shoulder, nearly flopped back onto his belly at his horses feet, and flipped onto his back instead. The stars were huge and bright above him, twisting and sliding over his vision, dancing together when he moved his eyes.

His half wild horse was perfectly still above him, and he had to use her shoulder, then her mane, to pull himself up to his feet, and steady himself. The ground heaved under his feet, and he swore softly, but took the break to pull his kerchief off, ball it up and hold it against the slit that had cut down across his mouth. It stung when he sucked at them.

His horse ignored him, standing with her hooves planted and her head high and her ears swiveling in every direction. She was snorting, and McCree could see a little glimmer of white foam at her lips.

It was while he was standing there, blood between his fingers and soaking in his kerchief, his horse frozen stock still beside him, he heard the first sound he hadn't made since he'd left the gorge.

A soft click. Not like metal on metal, not like anything McCree could name.

The horse noticed it first, already on high alert, her entire body going wire taught as she got ready to run.

"Easy," McCree barely whispered to her, he kept a hand twisted into her main, the other on her hocks. If she bolted, there was a chance he could get up on her back. It wasn't a great chance.

Then it came again, a quiet, heavy click. Something hard and small hitting stone, and just as he was about to dismiss it, there was a clatter of clicks, and McCree looked around to find a moving darkness against the blue black of the hill beyond.

Something moving with predatory speed.

He recognized the way it ran. Or more specifically, he recognized the way something like it could run, and the hair on the back of his neck went up, and his arms went cold as his gut screamed at him to run. He couldn't move though. He couldn't stop staring wide eyed and horrified as the thing in the darkness charged them, arching to attack. He couldn't even breath.

Fortunately, his horse was braver than he was. She reared, screamed obscene defiance and struck down with both front hooves.

McCree was still clinging to her mane and hocks, and he gasped in a breath as she jerked him nearly off his feet and his right hand tore out of her mane.

Peacekeeper spoke, huge and sudden and vicious in the darkness and McCree had no idea when he'd drawn his gun but the bullet struck something that cracked like glass instead of flesh.

He barely noticed that though, because the flash of fire from the muzzle was like a lightning strike, and for one instant, the thing in the darkness was visible.

McCree’s eyes went wide, he gasped out a curse that was almost a sob, swung himself up onto his horse's back, pulled her head around, and kicked her into a gallop. She reared, screaming and nearly throwing McCree off in fury or panic. Then she shot out through the darkness, over rough ground, snorting with terror. McCree's half-wild horse was running faster than she ever had in her life, four hooves striking down almost in the same instant, head forward, mane and tail streaming out with McCree balancing in a low crouch over her neck. The part of McCree's brain dedicated to survival knew this land, and without his stupid anxious questions about his family to hinder it, knew exactly where to go to be back on the safe roads he could run in the dark.

They were outpacing the thing that chased them. They could get away. They could get back to what was familiar to them both.

They ran until McCree's brave, half-wild little horse fell for the third, and last, time.  

 

* * *

 

McCree jammed his twenty year old treasure back into the bottom of his trunk and pulled the false bottom back over it with a snap.

He tried to slow his heart, tried to breath without panting. Tried hard to keep his terror in the past where it belonged. He regretted coming here like someone with a hangover regrets the first drink. So much risk and so much could have been lost coming here, and all for nothing as it turned out. It had been a wild, whimsical little thought in his mind and now he knew what he should have known if he'd followed some childishly simple lines of logic.

The monsters of McCree's youth and those from Hanzo's castle weren't even from the same world. Some damn monster hunter he was.

Anyway, this stupid ill-gotten curse had been in a locked trunk under a heap of junk inside a stone walled fortress populated by trigger happy drunks terrorizing the local hedge-witches. It could hardly influence anything.

He looked at the neatly stacked contents of this cache of his long gone life, and pulled the jam jar with the shard of black glass inside it.

Black glass, he thought, staring into the jar. So smooth he could catch a glimpse of his own reflection in the sides. There was an impact mark on one edge of the shard from a bullet, and it had clearly shattered, though McCree had never found any other pieces. He had kept it because he'd found it when he'd found Brenda's hair ribbon. At the time, he was sure it was a sign, a mark she'd left for him to find, a reason to hope.

He stared down at it, held limply in one hand on his lap. He'd been so desperate to hope back then. Not much had change apparently.

"McCree?"

McCree jumped like he'd been caught in some illicit act and closed his hand instinctively around the jar. At the last second, he remembered not to look up and out from under his hat brim. "Thought you were seeing to the turrets, Hanzo."

Hanzo stayed silent, McCree wasn't sure if the silence was indignant or angry or simply exasperated.

"What do you want, Hanzo?" McCree sighed, disregarded his dignity and wiped his face mostly dry before he looked up.

"I thought," Hanzo broke off, for the first time in McCree's experience, he didn't seem to know what to say.

He was perched beside the lantern, long body arched up from his little claws, an elaborately beautiful blue and gold inchworm. McCree couldn't help but smile just a little at that idea, and the bleakness of his twenty year old fear and more recent frustration ebbed a little. Not indignant or angry, certainly not exasperated, McCree felt tension easing out of his shoulders.

"I thought you were hurt," Hanzo went on, he was staring at McCree.

"Why'd you think I was..." McCree cocked his head, surprised and uncertain despite all that was already crowding in his mind. Then he put a hand over his chest, suddenly remembering the pain that had cracked open under his ribs when Hanzo had been taken from him, and sat up a little straighter. "You get that too?"

Hanzo nodded, his mane up and his scales foofed out slightly, "Apparently. I'm unused to it."

"I really am your favoured huh? Sorry about that." McCree looked away, aware that he knew how Hanzo felt about favoured, and he didn’t want to see Hanzo’s frustration, or worse, resignation.

His gaze fell on the bundle of clothing he'd left here as a younger man. Remembering he’d come here for two things, he shrugged out of his tattered coat. At least one of his goals for coming here wasn’t going to be an idiotic disaster.

"First and only," Hanzo said darkly. "I have never wished to emulate my brother."

"Think of me as a memorial to him," McCree offered, trying to sound off-hand and peeling his coat off his skin from a layer of dried blood. "Taking a favoured, like he did." McCree pulled his vest off, tattered at the shoulder and worthless for armour now. "Though apparently not so... Liberally."

Hanzo snorted. "You're trouble enough."

"I think today went well all told," McCree's voice was under control again. At least now he sounded like himself again, nothing like a desperate man in mourning. He chucked his tattered clothes aside and opened the laces on his shirt.  

Hanzo snorted. "We're sourcing our help from my brother's almost-favoured now." His tail lashed briefly. Too proud to really appreciate the help.

McCree laughed in the stuffy, hot silence of the storage room, and pulled the tattered, bloody remains of his shirt off. "We're lucky to have them, you got Winston over there combing through a box full of technical notes, and half of them are in god knows what language..."

"Swedish," Winston called cheerfully from behind the little wall of trunks that separated them.

"There you see, Swedish. And Tracer giving Lucio a quite literal run for his money." Bare chested, with his left arm wrapped in it's familiar bandage from scars just above the elbow to the wrist where it met his glove, McCree looked at the scars on his shoulder and over his hip once more. Still as wide as his palm, but fading from red to pink. He nodded, impressed with Lucio all over again.

Hanzo was staring. McCree only noticed because Hanzo's entire body, his mane, the crest of fur down his back, his whiskers, he'd gone perfectly still. The stillness more than anything had drawn McCree's eye.

Feeling self conscious for the first time in living memory of the scars, the burn that went up his side, the bullet wound that had healed badly, McCree pulled the shirt he'd left in this trunk as a younger man. McCree didn't think of it often, but his body was a living disaster log of bad ideas and disastrous encounters.

Then McCree found he was distracted because the shirt was so clean he suddenly realized with real, visceral revulsion how filthy his skin was. No wonder brightly immaculate, shining Hanzo was staring. McCree wondered with a bleak sort of pragmatism how Hanzo was going to justify the decision of his first, and likely last, favoured..

"What were you looking for?" Hanzo asked carefully.

"New clothes," McCree lied. He buckled his breastplate over his chest, an old thing that the sheriff had insisted he wear when she started training him. It hadn't been familiar to him when she'd given it to him, he hadn't known anything about armour, but he accepted it gratefully, and learned to rely on it. It was a very real and physical comfort now.

"New?" Hanzo was eyeing the worn out horse blanket McCree carefully pulled out of the bottom of his trunk.

"Well, relatively." McCree was lying again, but kept his voice light as he opened the horse blanket out, and a whiff of horse and dust filled the tiny, hot room, and McCree's movement hitched briefly. He shook the sunstained folds out until it was back in its original shape, and swung the red and yellow serape around his shoulders. He'd never thought he'd be the one to wear it.

Hanzo as much as shrugged. "The turrets are well clear, Lucio and Tracer say there's nothing wrong with the rest of the rooms in here. It's as you said, a good place for the Hanamuran villagers." Hanzo gave a stately little nod of approval. "I'm wondering what you intend to do with the hunters in the pit, feeding them's going to take a lot of resources."

"I'd suggest you release them," Winston said, breaking into the conversation. He clearly was perfectly unabashed by his eavesdropping while he read through an engineers personal journals. "One at a time I'd say, and let them take their money, maybe not the guns. Tell them to get on the train and look forward to a better life elsewhere."

"Sure, turn them loose," McCree said. "One at a time sounds good, and tell them if I see them again it'll be the last second they spend breathing. Or," McCree amended with sudden inspiration, "Tell them Winston thinks they should be on the train out of here. And he might make sure they're on it alive or otherwise. They'll make a run for it."

Hanzo snorted, an actual laugh that McCree grinned at, relieved to have company here after all. Carefully, he began packing his assorted treasures back into the trunk. Piece by piece, putting the dropped threads of his life away again. Winston made the occasional remark about relocating the hunters and inquisitors in the pit, and McCree was grateful he didn't have Hanzo's full attention as he packed the kerchiefs away like they were a couple of sacred objects. He shut the lid of his trunk and carefully locked it, and let out a long breath.

"Very well," Hanzo pushed off from the trunk and floated up to head height. The lamp light shone up upto his mane, lighting the ends of his fur in gold while the rest of him was in shadow.

McCree moved on blind instinct again, and reached out to Hanzo. Before he could pull his hand back, pass off the gesture as a mistake, Hanzo's foreclaws gripped his hand and landing wrapped around his wrist, pooled in his palm. It happened so fast, McCree wondered if either of them had thought about it or if Hanzo had already been heading for where he'd known McCree's hand would be.

McCree kept his breathing slow, tried to keep it even.

"Winston, you stayin' here? Or you coming with us?" McCree picked his way over the boxes, back to the opposite wall, and eventually, the door.

Winston was sitting in a ball, one fist tucked under his chin, hunched up around the current book and with a stack of books on either side of him. Another map had been posted beside the first one at some point. "No no, I'll stay," he said, turning a page. The book was tiny in his hands, "I'm just starting to get to something interesting."

"Interesting," McCree echoed dubiously, eyeing the technical diagrams with tiny lines and the notes in close packed scribble. "Sure."

"Tell us of your excavations," Hanzo said.

"In your own time," McCree added, because this was still a huge gorilla they were talking to, no reason not to be polite.

"Oh yeah," Winston looked up, sparing a glance and smiling at them. "Sure I will. I'll uh... Actually will you ask Tracer to run up and remind me? I'll be here."

Winston gestured at the engineer's trunk. He'd hardly made a dent in the books, and McCree didn't envy him the task. He was thinking about the engineer, a brusque, thoughtful, thorough man, and wondered what he could have possibly been researching to produce that many notes. Then his line of thought broke when he felt claws scrape politely up his arm through the serape. When he looked aside, Hanzo was settled on his shoulder.

"Hey," McCree said absently, putting a hand around Hanzo to steady him and leaving Winston with the light.

"We should leave here soon," Hanzo's mane was rucked up in fine soft points, scowling as he looked out into the ruin of crates and trunks and shadows. "This form doesn't suit me."

McCree didn't say anything, didn’t argue because his argument was idiotic. He tried not to feel like he was running from the storage room as he carried Hanzo back down the stairs to the court.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. It is currently unbeta'ed and so all the horribly embarrassing grammar and spelling mistakes are entirely my bad and I'm sorry. I'll get back to all of them!  
> The next chapter will be going up as soon as I can, I am participating in the McHanzo Big Bang and need to focus on that for a while, so unfortunately the regular updates here will be disrupted. In the meantime I will also be going through and cleaning up the spelling and grammar since the excellent beta reader of my heart [emotionalmorphine](http://emotionalmorphine.tumblr.com) beta read all the chapters up to this one and so now I can fix them up.  
> I have a [Tumblr](http://leoandlancer.tumblr.com), if you'd care to check it out or get in touch I would love that.  
> Thank you for reading! <3


	9. Home can be Almost Anything, Really

McCree owed getting through that afternoon to carefully cultivated automatic reactions. His mind was still up in the storage room, inside the warm familiarity of his trunk. The rest of him had a fairly eventful day.

Fortunately, Lucio couldn't hide how pleased he was with the Opinicon and what they could do with it.

"We need to clean out the court," Lucio waved a dismissive hand at the smashed platforms, shattered stocks, and the pit full of terrified and injured hunters as if they were all one. "But the Hanamurans can do that. And you weren't kidding about the food and water stores. Tracer wants to head into the town, but thought I'd ask, think she'd cause comment?"

McCree felt slightly stunned by his excitement. He still had Hanzo coiled around his neck and the warm weight of him was reassuring. He looked past Lucio to Tracer. The girl was in sunset orange leggings, a sheepskin jacket, and a harness over her chest held a glowing blue fire inside that apparently allowed her to travel through time.

"You know," McCree said, "I think it might. There's spare clothes around here for later. For now I'll head into town. What do you need?"

He listened as Lucio rattled off a list, kept his head cocked so he could feel Hanzo's flank on his jaw, tried and failed to keep his mind on the task at hand. He nodded amiably and kept his smile in place with a practiced grace and found the quartermaster's locker already broken open and searched. He took a couple handfuls of folly in a couple of bags, carried it out to the stable.

He learned very abruptly that horses are, in fact, terrified of dragons. The moment he opened the door and stepped into the dark, sweltering stables, roughly a dozen animals, all shades of horse to donkey and in between, went absolutely insane.

"I should look over the Opinicon," Hanzo said, a few busy moments later.

They had fetched up a few metres away from the doors, and the thunder of twelve panicked animals madly attempting to kick and bite their way out of their stalls had subsided. Hanzo began uncoiling from McCree’s neck, floating free of the serape.

"No, stay," McCree spoke faster than he meant to, his hand already rising to cup Hanzo’s flank and keep him still.

Hanzo made a small noise, and froze. He kept perfectly quiet, poised in a long doubled coil around McCree’s neck, just under his chin.

Hanzo was warm and solid against McCree’s hand. Then he remembered his presumptions were going to kill him.  "I won't keep you," McCree amended quietly, carefully pulling his hand away. "But if you'd care to, I'd take you into town with me."

"I recall you saying the people of Flower Station would like me less than they did in Eichenwald," Hanzo replied, not moving. “And unless you plan on walking, I don’t know how you’ll manage to travel.”

"I don't think I'm wrong,” McCree said, trying not to move. He realized he and Hanzo were both frozen together, neither of them pulling away. “I’d just rather have you along is all. You can hide under my serape, but only if you’ve a mind to. I don’t mean to keep you if you’d rather stay here.”

Hanzo uncurled himself from around McCree’s neck entirely, and shook his mane out.

He was tiny and exquisite in the air before McCree, jewel bright and perfect in the afternoon sun.

“Pick a horse and bring it out,” Hanzo said, “If it doesn’t panic, I’ll come with you.”

This time, McCree walked into the stable and met several large soft noses coming at him the other way. The animals were skinny and nervous, looking for reassurance and McCree walked with disinterested confidence to the best horse he could see. It was a big thing, not as skinny as the others, and flinched at McCree's every movement. It had scars on both sides, on its right flank and both sides of its neck. McCree directed it with almost exaggerated gentility.

He found a bag of barley, cracked and half full of maggots, but fed the horse a few handfuls until it was standing almost on top of McCree in gratitude. When he led it out into the sunshine, Hanzo kept very still, and the horse balked briefly, but McCree presented him with one more handful of barley, and the horse lost interest in Hanzo.

“Join me?” McCree pulled the edge of the serape out in invitation.

Hanzo kept a respectful distance from the horse, perched briefly on McCree’s outstretched arm, the flowed back around and around McCree’s neck. He settled himself, fluffing up his mane and then sinking low, uncoiling a little and spreading out over McCree’s neck and shoulders and down his chest where he’d be hidden.

“Alright?” McCree stayed very, very still, and kept a reassuring grip on the horse.

Hanzo nosed out of the red cotton and rested his head on a fold. He nodded, his silky-fine mane smooth on the underside of McCree’s jaw.

The horse seemed pathetically grateful to be leaving the Opinicon, and happily game to take the dusty road. McCree let the horse find its way, his head still up in the storage room, inside that old trunk. Hanzo peeked out from under his chin, shifting only occasionally, and didn’t trouble McCree to conversation.

They were on the edge of town when a train pulled out of the station, and McCree sat bolt upright so abruptly, his horse shied.  

He'd lived here for so many years all alone, searching, hoping, combing the hills and caves and canyons and plains for something, anything. In all that time, he’d heard that train whistle hundreds of time, thousands. But even after all this time, the sound brought him back to the dead of a dark night, riding at full pace with a weight tucked under one arm and his family following his lead. The last time before he was left alone.

“McCree?” Hanzo’s voice was a low growl, and he pushed his head up briefly under McCree’s jaw, tipping his head a little.

“It’s nothing,” McCree cupped Hanzo’s flank to his neck, turned away from the long line of the train, it’s windows reflecting the afternoon sunshine towards him, dazzling. “Nothing,” He said again, his eyes couldn’t focus on the road ahead of him, could barely see past his horses’ ears.

Hanzo tucked himself low into McCree's serape as they rode into town and left the grateful horse at a water trough in the main square. He only barely peeked up over the edge of the serape, and huffed as McCree dropped down off the horse and went to find the grocer.

Who turned out to be a friendly, half familiar man, and his face darkened almost to vitriolic hatred when McCree inquired about supplies for the Opinicon.

"You listen here you filthy drunk bastard," The grocer stabbed his middle finger at McCree, the trigger finger conspicuously absent. "The Opinicon gets nothing from me, you hear? Nothing, you've got a bill outstanding and I've had three wagons vanish out from around your parts and I've half a mind to call the sheriff on you if I don't see your back or the colour of your gold or..."

McCree ended the verbal barrage by dumping a bag of folly on the counter between them. The grocer looked down dumbly at the pile of gold on the smooth wood of his counter. McCree stared at his bald spot.

"Oh," The grocer said, losing his fire. "Well shit. Why didn't you say so? Sure. Alright mister, what do you need then?"

McCree gave him Lucio's list, bought oats in hand, told the grocer that the supplies would be taken in at the Opinicon by folk the driver might not recognize, and left. He dumped the oats into a nose bag and became first person to ever see a horse shed tears of joy. He left his delighted horse in the shade to enjoy it’s lunch, heaved a sigh, and went to find a similar reception at the munitions shop. Then the coopers, the distiller, and the weavers.  Every store in town was sour faced when he said where the goods he wanted were bound, and every store became instantly cooperative and incredibly baffled when McCree dumped a bag of gold on their counter.

In two hours, everything that Lucio and Tracer asked for would be heading up to the Opinicon at first light tomorrow.

McCree felt like he was walking through a dream. People recognized him on the street, shook his hand and called to him by name. His mouth moved around familiar names, asked after children who were married now, patted dogs who were white muzzled but wagged their whole body when they remembered him. The folk here were friendly to their own, and remembered him well. They had questions McCree couldn't answer, and wished him well with an innocent honesty.

He forced his feet up the low, wide steps to the train station before he went back to collect his horse, and inquired about moving a few... potentially ungrateful people out of town. He told the clark where he was from, who he wanted moved, and dumped a tithe of folly on the counter. The gold shone in the late afternoon sun, and the clark looked up from the most folly he'd ever seen in one place and asked how many trains McCree wanted.

This comment met with general approval in the waiting room. Three people shook McCree's hand and thanked him for taking over the Opinicon and McCree wondered just how bad things had gotten since he'd left.

McCree dropped a folly into the collection box at the church in town, left another little tihe at the half burned town hall to help the rebuilding, and dumped the rest of his gold through the broken window of the school house.

Hanzo was a perfectly still weight around his neck all this time, but it was a comfort to have him close.

The horse was in love with McCree by the time they returned, and stood with perfect patience while he stowed the now empty nose bag and mounted up. They left town before McCree’s mind had really caught up with him.

Hanzo waited until they were well outside of town and all alone, then nosed up out of McCree's serape and shook out his mane.

"I take it the town had suffered since you left."

"Sure has,” McCree opened his eyes. It was cool and dim in the shade of his hat, and he already had too much to mull over. “Worse than I thought. But it was to be expected I guess. It's hard to argue with heavily armed and armoured people camped in a fort on your doorstep. Once the sheriff was run out, Inquisitors took over, and then the monsters all died out in a few months. The town had no need for an Opinicon, and the inquisitors got... defensive. Started hunting any big game. They made some changes to what defined a monster."

McCree's mind jerked back in time by about seven years. It was a bad time, right after he’d found that long lost treasure. McCree had spent a lot of sleepless nights trying to outdrink his nightmares. He’d lain shaking and sweating, barely sleeping while he curled around the treasure he’d last seen with Brenda Jean.

Hanzo was quiet for a while. "You don't strike me as a pedant when it comes to monsters."

McCree laughed outright. "You're not wrong! I ain't choosy about what a monster looks like! Especially not if I'm being paid. I'm well aware of that. But the Inquisition started taxing the town for protection money, and more and more of the hunters I knew were dying in accidents, the sheriff and the engineer were run out, no more monsters and anyway…” McCree trailed off in belated self defence. His mind was still wandering. His tongue wasn’t as sharp as it needed to be around Hanzo apparently. “Anyway, I guess I outgrew the place."

_And anyway, his left arm was becoming harder and harder to hide._

"It's a good town," Hanzo said after a while, "I can see why you suggested the Opinicon."

"Glad you like it. Not a bad place all told," McCree was perfectly honest when he said this, and that surprised him a little.

"What was it like before the sheriff left?"

McCree didn't answer, the chronology of the time before he'd recovered his lost treasure wasn’t good. Monsters were coming out of the dark so often back then, larger and larger, more and more of them. McCree almost never slept at night back then. Hunters were all run ragged. People began to dread that the Opinicon and it's hunters weren't enough, wouldn't ever be enough. The sheriff had lost her eye. McCree had taken a bad fall. The engineer had lost his arm. Three hunters died for every one they could recruit. A group of hunters began to study a living monster in private, and once they became the first Inquisitors, things became so much worse after that.

Less than a year after the sheriff and the engineer had been run out, the Opinicon turned from a place of safety and protection, to a prison, a torture chamber.

It had been during this time that McCree had found the thing now hidden at the bottom of his trunk. The year there were so many thunderstorms that the local folks began to wonder if this was a judgment on them.

"It’s a blur,” McCree said after a while. He had so many warm memories of the sheriff and the engineer, but looking back at the time from it seemed like a nightmare. “But it worked. Sheriff kept all these hunters on task, kept them protecting the town, kept pushing the monsters back. Engineer kept the Opinicon defended. Hell, we had the whole population of Flower Station in there a few nights a year when there were just too many monsters around. We could protect anyone in there."

Hanzo stayed quiet where he was, and McCree felt the slight shift as his pearl-smooth scales rubbed over the skin of his neck as Hanzo’s tail switched gently, back and forth in thought.

"Will you return here?" Hanzo asked abruptly, "After Omukade's dead?"

"After..." McCree's mind went blank, and he stared at the dusty road between the ears of the grateful horse. "Hanzo, I ain't thought of that."

Hanzo grunted.

"I mean, where do dragon's keep their familiars?" McCree tried to remember what Lucio had said on the topic. He'd stayed in the bunkhouse, knew the valley well enough to know the trails, but lived in Rio, wherever that was.

"I don't know," Hanzo huffed in irritation. "Genji always had a familiar or forty-seven of them around, scattered all over the valley. I have no idea where they stayed, they were just always with him. Always underfoot."

"Ah," McCree's shoulders lost the tension he hadn't noticed had been building. So McCree better start thinking of life in Flower Station after all.

He wondered suddenly if he would still feel it if Hanzo was hurt. Years after this was over, and Hanzo had forgotten the embarrassing necessity of taking a favoured in war times. McCree wondered if after years, decades had gone by and he was an old man and this was just a memory, if he'd still want to stroke Hanzo's mane, run his thumb back and forth over the smooth scales. Wondered if he'd ever forget Hanzo's voice calling to him by name.

Because that's what would happen. Because McCree might be Hanzo's favoured, but there was no reason to think that meant anything more than a necessity to Hanzo. McCree was just a weapon to his dragon, and Hanzo constantly made it clear what he thought of keeping humans around.

Hanzo tensed around McCree's neck, scales edged out only slightly, a little prickle where there had been hot smoothness before. McCree idly rubbed a hand over his chest where a dull ache was building like a bruise under his ribs.

They didn't speak for the remainder of the ride back to the Opinicon, and McCree waited politely for Hanzo to fly up and wait outside the stables before leading his horse back in. He untacked the grateful horse and rubbed it down while it nickered at him in loving undertones. He left it with fresh hay and water, and then, seeing the state the other horses were in, pulled off his hat and serape and found a shovel.

"You don't have to stay for this," McCree said, cleaning out one neglected horses' stall after another. "You can head back up to find Lucio or..."

Hanzo had managed to edge inside the stable, and the assorted equidae were too focused on fresh food and water to notice or care. He landed on McCree’s shoulder, then paused as though ready to argue his right to be there.

McCree kept perfectly still, then cocked his head, inviting Hanzo in.

"I'll stay with you," Hanzo curled back around McCree’s neck

"Good," McCree said stupidly. He was trying to commit the touch of Hanzo's scales to memory.

It took over an hour to clean out the stables, and Hanzo and McCree didn't speak in that time, though McCree didn't mind the quiet. The sun set in a huge, red slash around the horizon, and the air outside became marginally cooler as the sky turned faintly purple.

McCree didn't head back in when the sun was gone though, he stood in the door, hat tipped down a little, bundled into the serape that still smelled like his brave little half wild horse. He could feel Hanzo's pearl-smooth scales on his neck, shifting every now and again, the steady rhythm of his breathing.

His hands stayed busy and his mind was far away. Locked up in the wooden trunk with Brenda Jean’s hair ribbon. Riding his brave little half wild horse through a pitch dark night in absolute terror. Sitting in the freshly built Opinicon with the sheriff and the Engineer, the first time in his life he hadn’t been talked down to by grown folk. Watching them leave years later, the second time he’d lost his family.

There had been something he had noticed today. Something important and he didn't realize it yet. He had the nagging sense he'd seen something, realized something important and disregarded it. His mind kept turning around and around in helpless, useless, tightening circles. He could smell his little half wild horse. Knew the pattern of sun stains on the hair ribbon Brenda Jean had tied over and over. He could hear the little shard of black glass in its jar, _plink-clink-plink_ , hard as gemstone.

His mind wouldn't settle. Something about the warm red rock and the wide open sky of his childhood made it hard to divide what he knew from what he'd felt. He had to have missed something. Fourteen people leave more than traces when they vanish. More than chipped stones and hair ribbons and bloody scratches on a cave wall--

He shook himself. Forced himself to breathe. Wiped a hand over his cheek and tipped his head to shade his eyes until he could control himself.

They rhythm of Hanzo's steady breathing hitched. "What is it?"

"Oh, nothing," McCree gave up trying to find something more to do in the stable. The place was immaculate, the horses, donkeys, mules in transports of delight.

He stepped out, wrapping his serape back around himself, and looked around at the plains in the late sunset. The heat was soaking up through his boots. He hadn't been properly warm since he'd left this place.

Hanzo snorted against McCree's collar bone and nosed up under his jaw, then out to look up at him.

"Can’t stop thinking about… I thought it would be easier, is all," McCree caved, giving a partial truth. Then the words escaped him before he could pull them back. "I lost my family here."

He'd never said it like that. Fourteen people are not easy to lose, especially when they love you.

"Your... family?" Hanzo asked.

McCree just nodded. It was hard enough to admit he’d lost them. Damn near impossible to explain how.

A silence lapped back over them, the sky darkened and the horses settled happily and McCree stood with his left palm aching like fire. Hanzo slid the coils of his long body a little lower over McCree's shoulders and resettled himself under the serape, and laid his head on McCree’s shoulder.

"You never found your family?" Hanzo's voice was soft where it spoke just under McCree's ear.

"Not a one." McCree stared at the red light bleeding up from the western horizon.

"You've been hunting monsters since then I take it?"

"Should have taken up bank robbing, I know that now."

Hanzo snorted. "Safer?"

"More reliable," McCree drawled with an effort. "Meet all kinds of people. Plus there’s the appeal of carrying gold until it becomes mundane."

"I can't picture that. You dealing well with mundanity."

"I wouldn't have, but it's a thought." McCree agreed, and absently tried to sooth the pain from his left hand.

Hanzo shifted again, looking down over the edge of the serape's folds. A low sound like a growl made the smooth scales shiver against McCree's neck.

"Are you hurt?"

McCree tucked his hands to his sides again. "No, course not. Lucio'd have me patched up."

"Your hand.”

Hanzo left the remark hanging, until McCree needed to fill the silence.

“You saw the bandages."

Hanzo just growled.

"It’s nothing. Taken care of."

A tiny hiss from under his ear. McCree could just see Hanzo rearing up.

"Just habit," McCree said, the lie came easy when it rolled off his tongue. "You saw the scars? My left arm is... worse off then that. I don't much like to look at it."

Which wasn't even a lie, an omission, certainly, but secrecy had been hammered into him by the engineer and the sheriff and he wasn't breaking it now.

The air had taken on a pale purple colour after the sun had finally slunk down, and McCree slid the door shut on the stable, and started back up to the open siege gate.

Hanzo settled again, a little stiffly, then let out a short sigh and the long lines of tension eased from under the pearly smooth scales. McCree hadn’t realized he’d moved, but found his hand on Hanzo’s flank, cradling him close. He tried not to think about how automatic that had been.

He found Tracer and Lucio, eventually, zipping around the vaulted arches of the cool, underground stockroom. The shelves were haphazardly stocked between the evenly spaced pillars, and the two were cheerfully calling to each other as they took inventory. Each time either of them called to the other, their positions were wildly far away from their last call.

McCree, still in a mental fog of memories and half finished questions and a familiar, anxious longing for his family, wandered as if lost. Whenever Lucio or Tracer would sing out, he’d turn towards that direction automatically. He finally realized this was a useless project and stood his ground to let out a piercing, two fingered whistle. Hanzo startled up so quickly he thumped his head on the underside of McCree’s chin.

"Sorry," McCree barely contained his snort of laughter as having startled him. He cradled the warm curve of Hanzo through his serape, "Sorry."

"Took you long enough, how far is this town?" Lucio slid to a stop beside him, heel edged outwards and leaving broad streaks of light slashed into the stone floor. The stop sent up a shower of green sparks.

"Not far, the stables were a mess. Tracer? McCree looked around as blue light flickered in his vision and suddenly, there she was.

"Hiya," she waved.

"Might want to check the outbuildings next. Horses weren't fed regular and they need attention. And listen, when you go to town tomorrow I’ll come too, and let 'em know you helped take the Opinicon from the Hunters. Town's folk have had enough of them."

"Don't blame them," Lucio shrugged.

McCree explained about the train, about the tab at the grocers, about the poverty in town and about the people tentatively hopeful about new people in the Opinicon. He was starting to feel numb, his mind wandering even as his mouth talked on without much input from him.

That little black shard in its jar. Hard as gemstone, cracked by a bullet.

"Sure thing," Tracer nodded.  "But are you sure about coming to town with me next time? Lucio says you're heading back to Hanamura tonight. You sure you can't rest even a night? You can't go back now."

Hanzo stiffened from around McCree’s neck, there was a faint prickle of rising scales where their skin touched. McCree could just hear Hanzo growl.

"You really so eager to make some more noise?" McCree asked Lucio before Hanzo could speak.

"Graves are quiet enough, so we make our noise among the living." Lucio nodded, smiling. "We've got what we need here, a safe place for the Hanamurans. And allies to protect them! What’s worth waiting for? More we wait, more villagers get eaten alive by that thing. I ain’t napping while we could stop it."

McCree was aware that Lucio wasn’t really directing his words at him. Absently, he held Hanzo a little more tightly to the side of his neck.

“We’ve got a monster hunter,” Lucio nodded at McCree, then went on, nodding now at Hanzo then Tracer. “We have a plan to distract Omukade, and we have a safe place for the villagers to stay. No point waiting.”

Hanzo poked his head out from under the shelter of McCree’s chin. “It’s too soon-”

“It’s too late for Genji,” Lucio shot back in the same amiable voice. “Too goddamn late for those villagers who relied on you for protection.”

McCree’s wandering mind was wrenched brutally from his trunk, his memories, the scent of his half wild horse and slammed against this present moment with breathtaking clarity. The sudden silence that fell was so hard and sharp, McCree stood rigidly still, as if afraid the air itself could cut him open.

“I’ll uh…” Tracer was watching Lucio, a confused little frown tugging at her mouth. “I’ll go… fetch Winston, shall I?”

Without waiting for a response, Tracer flickered, then left a line of blue-white light burning in the air behind her. She appeared several meters away, already leaning into a full-out sprint, and flickered out a second time. Then a third.

McCree found himself staring after her dolefully, half wishing she’d stayed, half wishing she’d taken him with her.

“I told you why Genji fell.” Hanzo had risen stiffly, slowly, until he was standing up around McCree’s shoulders as his needle sharp talons dug deep into McCree’s coat, pricking at his skin. His mane was up and his scales stood out in tiny jagged shards. “He would have died, and--”

“Don’t try and tell me you did right,” Lucio looked perfectly calm, staring straight back at Hanzo without blinking. “And don’t say fell. He wasn’t a dead duck, he trusted you. He thought you would love and protect your little brother no matter what, and you attacked him. You went straight for the kill.”

“And if I hadn’t?” Hanzo’s voice was a snarl so deep McCree could feel it buzz on the back of his tongue.

“What, you think this could have been worse?” Lucio scoffed and began counting off on his fingers. “Worse than the Dragon Lords of the Shimada River deposed, their castle seized, their lands left fallow, their people abandoned, rounded up, imprisoned, _eaten_...”

“You just think he was incapable of idiocy!” Hanzo snapped. His back was up now, his talons were digging into McCree’s skin. “Incapable of being an impulsive, _foolhardy_ , fighter who would have been killed anyway and destroyed any chance for the rest of us! You’re just one of his favored, you can’t see what else he is to everyone but--”

Lucio dropped his smile and showed his teeth when he cut Hanzo off. “If you were murdered you think McCree would care?”

The cut-crystal sharpness of silence sliced down around them again.  McCree felt his gut go stark cold. Hanzo was perfectly still, mouth open, mane up, talons digging into McCree’s shoulder.

Then Hanzo shuddered.

McCree was moving before he realized what he was doing. There was a brief moment when all four sets of talons were jerked out of his skin, and another when he tugged open one end of his serape. Then he breathed again, and Hanzo was coiled up, tucked safely to McCree’s chest under his serape, cradled in both arms.

“Shut your damn mouth,” McCree said softly to Lucio.

“I want Genji here, with me,” Lucio’s voice was low and clear and hard. He looked lean without his smile, as though starved of something essential. “He was taken from me. And now Hanzo has you and so maybe now your stupid, arrogant, self-absorbed, high-handed, loveless despot of a dragon can understand a fraction of what he’s done. Maybe you can _both_ understand how badly I want this to end.”

Without seeming to notice, Lucio had curled in on himself, making an empty cradle of his arms. McCree tightened his arms around Hanzo in reflexive response.

“I ain’t waiting. We have what we came for. We’ll take Tracer and position her at the pool. Hanzo carries you and I back to Hanamura. Omukade will hear him, he always hears him, and he’ll chase Hanzo down. Hanzo’s going to fly into Hanamura, towards Omukade, and drop us off as close as he can to the castle and then get away. McCree and I break into the castle and pull the Hanamurans out, and bring them out to the pool in the courtyard. Hanzo sends his guardians off as a diversion, shakes Omukade and doubles back to meet us. We all return here with the Hanamurans. That’s it. That’s what we’re doing.”

“Thought about this have you?” McCree kept his voice steady and low. For the first time, he realized that the slow, well chained anger Lucio carried under that easy smile was strong enough to drive him to anything. McCree was shaken by the force of it. It was hard to keep reminding himself, but Lucio was favoured, which meant he was powerful in a way a _dragon_ wasn’t.

“He’s right,” Hanzo’s voice was feather soft, so quiet McCree was sure he was the only one who could hear it. “Let’s go.”

That was spoken like a question though, and McCree swallowed hard, tried to keep himself from holding Hanzo too tight, and looked back up at Lucio.

“Fine,” McCree said. “We’ll go.

“Good,” Lucio’s shoulders eased, his arms hanging back at his sides. “That’s good. We get into the castle, get the villagers, come back here, and then sleep.”

“Sure,” McCree said quietly.

“Then you kill Omukade tomorrow.” Lucio’s smile was back like it had never left, his eyes bright again.

“OK,” McCree shut his eyes, leaning away from the cheerful confidence of that wild assertion. He felt Hanzo jerk in his arms. “Ok Lucio, one goddamn wild plan at a time.”

 

* * *

 

Tracer and Winston had been hiding just out of sight on the stairs up to the kitchen, and were still crouched there, looking guilty when Lucio led McCree and Hanzo up and out. The moon was rising when they left the Opinicon, and it showed as the two pointed ends of a crescent, just rising above the mountain like a pair of shining white horns.

"Thank you again for showing me that box of the engineers books," Winston said, breaking the silence with a little cough. "He recorded some amazing events."

McCree nodded, his arms still locked around Hanzo’s coiled length under his serape.

“You’ll find a hell of a lot in those, he was no slouch when it came to writing.”

“I’ll need to translate his journals, he wrote of the day to day in swedish, his technal notes are in english but that’s all…” Winston trailed off as their little party stopped.

Lucio and Tracer had been leading them, the two of them bent towards each other, talking fast and low. But they suddenly stopped, and Tracer stood with her arms akimbo and her head cocked. Lucio just shrugged back up at her.

“Bit cheeky,” Tracer said after a long, painful moment. Her tone was low, almost cold.

Lucio visibly stiffened, but didn’t reply.

"McCree," Hanzo moved in McCree’s arms, nosing at his right hand.

“Oh,” McCree stupidly eased his hold. “Right, sorry.”

Hanzo slipped out of his arms, letting his long body run under McCree’s right hand as he flew out from under the hem of the serape, and floated up freely. He was a fine, shining thing in the moonlight.

McCree reached up to him to draw him back down into whatever shelter McCree could provide. After hours with Hanzo as a warm, pleasantly heavy weigh around his neck, or in his arms, he felt suddenly cold.

Before he could reach Hanzo, McCree blinked, then froze. Something around Hanzo made the moonlight reflect off his scales at two angles at once, the gold mane fluffed up tall. Then McCree flinched back with a snarled curse as Hanzo lashed his long body out.  

A crack like thunder split around them, and suddenly Hanzo burst up and out. McCree had one ice-cold moment of wide eyed horror that tore the breath out of him. He saw a long, muscled flank pour past him, coil over coil. Saw a flash of scales wider than his shoulders. Saw the gold ridge of fur way, way above his head. Hanzo’s vast coils blocked out the pale moonlight and spread up and out and…

McCree was back in the shadow of this monster that could kill him so, so easily.

"There," Hanzo snarled.

McCree opened his eyes to find Hanzo, thick around as a draught horse, flanks rising to chest height, head only just large enough to bite McCree in two.

Not large enough to block out the sky. Not large enough to be the nightmare McCree had just seen.

Still. McCree swallowed hard and glanced over the long coil of Hanzo's body to make sure that backing up a step wouldn't accidentally bring him closer. The step didn't feel like enough distance, so he took another.

"McCree?"

Lucio was already perched on Hanzo's back when McCree looked up to see him. Hanzo was turned away, apparently looking out towards the pool. His mane was rucked up.

"Yeah?" McCree blinked, felt cold sweat under his hat brim, and tried to draw a full breath. He couldn't.

"Love?" Tracer cocked her head at him, standing beside Hanzo, ready to hop up behind Lucio.  

She shot a quick glance up at Lucio, and Lucio just barely shook his head back to her. Hanzo shook out his mane, kept facing away from McCree, and otherwise stood perfectly still. McCree couldn't draw breath and his heart was hammering and he could barely look at the dragon.  

"McCree," Winston said, so quietly McCree wasn't sure the others could hear him. "Take your hand off your gun."

McCree felt like he'd been slapped. He had his hand on Peacekeeper. Hadn't noticed it, hadn't meant to move, but there he was.

"Shit," McCree breathed out the word and he was faintly surprised he had breath in him to speak. "I didn't mean..."

"Take it easy. You’ll be fine," Winston said, amiable and soft and there was something reassuring about a one ton gorilla in rocket powered armor believing in you. It was an unfamiliar bolstering.

McCree took a breath, dragged his hand off Peacekeeper. He had clean forgotten that the tiny, adorable creature which had spent the day protected and safe around McCree was the same thing that could bite him in half. Somehow the Hanzo that McCree could cradle under the curve of his left hand and the monster that had roared down at him on the bridge were the same. He made a fist and heard the knuckles in his right hand pop softly.

"Yeah," McCree said again, master linguist. "Thanks, Winston."

He ducked his head under his hat brim to hide Hanzo from himself, and closed the distance between them.

"Hurry," Hanzo's voice was low.

McCree made the mistake of looking up, and found Hanzo half turned to him. He was snarling, the moonlight gleaming on pointed teeth.

McCree missed a step, ducked his head again, and found himself standing right beside the scaled flank. Silently, McCree reached up to find a handful of golden fur, and boosted his only slightly catatonic body up behind Hanzo's mane. He swallowed hard, forced himself to breathe, and couldn't find the pride to resent Lucio when he heard the music around them switch to the slower, more gentle music he used when McCree was bloody.

"Winston," McCree's hand tipped his hat for him, his rational mind still shaken but his manners intact. The sherif would be so proud of him.

Winston nodded back to him, looking solemn and maybe a little sad. “Good luck.”

Hanzo gave a low growl, and took off, bursting into flight and raising a trail of dust in the moonlight. When the rocky land sloped away, Hanzo rose up, flying over the valley and heading straight for the pool.

McCree caught himself raising his left hand when Hanzo growled, but found nothing around his neck. He hoped no one had noticed the motion, and covered it by pulling the serape up over his nose and mouth, and ducking down low over Hanzo's back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday to my friend Archivist!! =D 
> 
> Thank you for staying with me during this long hiatus, it's been a wild couple of months but it's so good to get back to this fic. Updates will now resume, although a little more slowly. Next Wednesday (August 29th) the next chapter of the now edited Hell to Pay will be posted, and the Tuesday after (September 4th) the next chapter of Fool's Gold will be posted.  
> I hope you enjoyed this new chapter, and thank you again for reading <3  
> If you have any requests, or comments, or questions, please message me at [my Tumblr](http://leoandlancer.tumblr.com)!


	10. You Can't Take Tomorrow's Nap Today

The journey back was shorter than it had felt this morning. Hanzo didn't need to weave around for cover, but flew straight over the rocky land to the gully where the spring fed the pool. He circled the water first, a strangely bright, smooth disk from above, reflecting the stark crescent moon and a flash of scales as Hanzo curved overhead. Then the reflection changed as McCree stared down. He saw moonlight glinting through leaves now, the surfaced rippled from a waterfall. McCree had a moment to stare at the transformation then felt Lucio jab him under the ribs.

"I said are you ready," Lucio had his head cocked around McCree, talking to him and Hanzo. "If Omukade knows you're coming home again, he'll be after you. Things could happen fast."

McCree tried to scrape together his thoughts. He felt cold and sore and tired and he missed the weight of the tiny warm dragon that had spent the day around his neck.

"Yes," Hanzo's voice was a growl. "Lets end this, now."

"McCree?" Lucio propped his chin on the curve of McCree’s shoulder.

“Fine,” McCree lied.

Lucio as much as shrugged. "Just get us close to the castle Hanzo, I'll get us inside and we'll meet up with the villagers and get them to the courtyard whe you can meet us. Any trouble and we run for... what, waterfall?"

"Caves," Hanzo said after a pause to consider. "Closer, and Omukade may not fit inside now."

Caves, McCree thought, as his left hand gave a short burning stab of agony. Goddamn caves.

"Ok, caves. Will you be able to find us in case we’re between castle and caves when you come back?"

"Of course I'll find you." Hanzo nearly scoffed.

"Good, good yeah. So you throw Omukade a dragon or two to chase, come back and find us, and open the pool to allow the villagers to travel to Flower Station."

"I'll take them from there," Tracer put in leaning around Lucio to call up, "Don't worry about them once they're here."

"Right, perfect. McCree protects us in case there's anymore scouts."

"I'll need to look around some in the castle," McCree said, his thoughts numbly lingered in a fifteen year old memory of something that kept dragging at his attention. Something he had to have overlooked. "This Omukade's got to have left me something I can use against him."

"Sure," Lucio waved this off as a happy extra. "Then we all regroup, Omukade comes home after running itself out chasing ghosts--"

"Ancient and venerable guardians," Hanzo snapped, cutting him off.

"Whatever you want to call them," Lucio's patience was suddenly pushed to the very edge of breaking point. After a moment he went on. "Ok. That's it. That's the plan."

"Gottcha," Tracer leaned up to give Lucio a quick hug. "Hanzo, McCree, look after yourselves!" She dropped off Hanzo's back before McCree could reply.

She fell thirty feet and landed on dark stone. McCree's heart rate was hammering against his throat as he looked over in horror, but she was running lightly around the pool, flickering with blue light as she jumped a few metres ahead of herself, unhurt.

McCree swore with quiet feeling, and rubbed his eyes.

Hanzo shook himself a little, "Hold on, McCree."

"Right," McCree forced himself to take a handful of sleek golden fur.

Then he bit down on a curse and tucked his head low as Hanzo dove.

The water shattered around him, and there was that moment when he felt like he was falling while also thrown straight upwards as well. He wondered if Lucio was used to this.

Hanzo burst up from the water surrounded by high trees and the cool green moss of the waterfall's pool, and swung around to level out among the treetops. He skulked there, motionless, with his ears laid flat. McCree and Lucio perched low on his back, McCree biting his lip under a fold of his serape, and Lucio silently leaning up to peek over his shoulder.

The valley spread out below them, trees, river and the town, the silver light of the moon touching the far mountain ridge. It was quiet, and the castle was lit up with a dull orange fire burning inside.

"Alright," Lucio said quietly. "You ready for this?"

Hanzo just grunted.

McCree, heard himself answer, "Sure," before he could stop himself.

"Fine," Hanzo said. "Has it noticed I've come..."

Something inside the castle moved. The dim light of the fire flared bright suddenly.

"I mean-" Lucio began.

Then they all three flinched as a roar echoed up the mountainside. It was so loud and so low McCree felt it in his gut, felt it rattle unnervingly against his bones. The trees around them shed a few needles and every bird and small beast shrieked in alarm.

"Yes, yes it did." McCree said into the ringing silence that fell.

"Let's go," Lucio crouched low and the music changed around them, green light under his feet and in his hand. "We need to be in the village before Omukade can reach us!"

Hanzo seemed to gather himself, then lunged forwards. They dove down the mountainside, a blue streak as Hanzo darted among the highest trees and shot down towards the village.

McCree peeked out from the brim of his hat as they went, and felt the wind of their speed snatch at his hair and sting in his eyes. The glow from inside the castle flared up as muddy red firelight rose in the windows. Another roar reached them. A huge sound that felt thick in the air and made McCree think of rancid oil on his tongue.

Below them on the castle, the huge opening to the porch on the hillside went dark suddenly, and Omukade began to pour out onto the porch. It needed to tilt it’s head to force it’s way out through the door. The huge mouth opened, a bright white door to hell, so bright it hurt to look at. Another roar echoed up, clearer now, and when Omukade's maw snapped shut, McCree could see a gush of flame at the corners of his mouth.

Hanzo tensed, barely slowing, then, twisted his head a little with a snarl and slashed down with both foreclaws, and with a roar, sent a bolt of crackling blue white lightning streaking away from them towards the castle.

"So I guess we ain't even trying to make this a stealth mission?" McCree called over the speed of the wind, holding his hat down with one hand and clinging to Hanzo with the other. There was a flicker of blue as the bolt splashed with a burst of light on Omukade's face. Omukade barely seemed to notice the attack.

Hanzo's sides were solid and shuddering with tension, the mane under McCree's hand was prickling with spines.

Hanzo roared again. Another bolt of blue white lightning and again, Omukade seemed to barely notice. The massive length of the monster was boiling out of the castle faster than McCree thought anything had a right to move. Its forequarters scrambled onto the roof of the castle, twisting around towards them as the long, thick arcs of his body oozed up and out onto the porch. The gaps in it's chitin where flame burst out stretched wide as it forced coil after coil out, it's length trailing oily flame as it tumbled over itself, eager and heedless.  McCree heard wood cracking, and from their distance, saw at least one of the pillars of the porch fall.

Lucio made a low groan and shoved his face into McCree's back as the flailing legs and the black armor of the chiten just kept ripping itself free of the castle.

Finally Omukade arched to the side, and dropped from the castle entirely, falling silently for a moment, then landing with a crash that rose panicked birds from the surrounding forest. There was firelight shining bright through the trees, moving towards them and accelerating. Most of Omukade was in a tangled heap at the foot of the castle, but the long body paid out it's length with unnerving speed, all it's legs flailing for purchase. Trees were trampled aside with bursts of shattering noise as they went. The monster began closing on them, cutting between Hanzo and Hanamura, trying to cut them off and force a fight.

"Hanzo," McCree doubted he could hold onto Hanzo, and his hat, and Pecekeeper if they were caught in a fight. Wondered how the hell anyone could expect him to kill this thing with a six shooter and effort of will. 

Hanzo tipped his face upwards and began to climb with a hiss, raking at the air for altitude as Omukade cut in front of them.

McCree could remember this monster rearing up to the height of the tallest tree on the mountain ridge, and ducked his face down low over Hanzo's mane, his hand clenched in golden fur and praying Lucio held on behind him. Hanzo spiraled up as Omukade charged towards them, roaring in short, eager barks, firelight making the trees below them stark black against white hot fire.

Then Omukade burst up from the trees below them in a lunge.  

McCree had a horrible view of the wide, glossy-smooth face of Omukade tipping back, mandibles parting, four sided maw gaping open wider and wider until McCree was staring at a stark white inferno just below him. Jaws wide enough McCree could have stood upright inside him and still rising fast-

"Hanzo!"

McCree was dimly conscious that his hat had been torn off his hair in the wind and swept away the instant his right hand reached for Peacekeeper. One barbarously loud, busy moment later, Peacekeeper had fired all six shots towards the very edge of the the monsters open mouth.  He missed one shot. There were five glancing bursts of sparks as the bullets clipped the shining black of Omukades open, rising jaws.

The chiten cracked. McCree watched the instant as the fifth shot struck, and a chip of shining black shell spun away into the darkness below them. Omukade kept coming, his long body rushing forwards through the trees below it and bursting up under his already rising forequarters, forcing itself higher and higher. But the bullets one after another like that had pushed his head a little to one side, and the fire-bright gaps between it’s chiten widened as it swayed…

It had to fall, McCree thought in cold numb horror. Peacekeeper needed reloading and his hands were busy without his paying much attention. The heat of Omukade’s open maw scorched his face. It was a seventy feet high now it had to…

Hanzo jerked one way as Omukade swayed to the other. He tucked his claws to his belly they crossed in midair, and oily orange firelight glinted in his fur. They were close enough McCree could have kicked the massive centipede.

He emptied Peacekeeper into its side instead. Six shots at close range and each brought up a shower of sparks and sent chips of black shell spinning away. Omukade hit the end of his momentum as it swung it’s head around to look for them. The roar that came when it found them at very nearly blunt-force distance knocked the air out of McCree's lungs. He felt an oily sheen press into his skin as a blast of thick, ropy, black smoke billowed across them.

Twelve feet above them Omukade's mandibles clacked uselessly, little gouts of flame burst at the edges of its mouth as it chomped furiously towards them, all it’s spiked legs raking at the air. Then the monster wavered, unsupported, and began to fall back to the forest.

McCree blinked his dazzled eyes and tried to see anything behind the scorched imprint of Omukade's gaping maw. Hanzo leveled out, flicked his tail and shot onwards. McCree looked back to discover Omukade attempting to sort out fully a two-thirds of it's body in a tangle of shattered trees. When it lunged, so much of it's length had no purchase, nothing to hold on to, and in the second after it came to earth, it could hardly move for its own unsupported weight.

Helpless after it makes a lunge like that, McCree thought, well honed survival instincts cataloging on autopilot. Heavy as hell and if it was unsupported, it would be unable to…

The thought was jerked sideways out of his head as Hanzo soared over the wall around the village and dove down into Hanamura. They dropped a good hundred feet in a dive any falcon would have thought a little reckless and Hanzo tore dust up as he leveled out above the street.

McCree dropped his face into Hanzo’s mane with a groan, and clung on as tightly as he dared. 

Buildings and windows and walls and gardens grown ragged and feral flashed past them. Hanzo stuck close to the walls, made ninety degree turns with an agility that hurled McCree and Lucio sideways, and all the time, McCree could hear Omukade smashing through the forest behind them.

Light burst down onto the empty streets and McCree risked a glance over his shoulder as heat pressed into the back of his neck. Omukade was reared up at the edge of town, and the white fire of it’s open mouth shone down into the dark village.

“You have to lose it!” Lucio called, leaning around McCree. “If it sees us on our own it won’t bother to follow you!”

“I know,” Hanzo snarled back. He executed a left hand turn so abrupt Lucio had to hook both hands onto McCree's right side to keep his seat.

Lucio snarled out a long, heartfelt monologue in a language McCree didn't know, but any stream of cursing that vitriolic sounds the same in any language.  

"Hold your breath," Hanzo dove sideways, and McCree got a quick gasp of air as Hanzo hit the river.

It wasn't the quick shatter of reality McCree was expecting. Hanzo dove, leveled out, and then dark water rushed past McCree and snatched at this hair as he held Peacekeeper tight in one hand, and kept his left locked in golden fur. He lost time in the dark, with only the intermittent glint off Hanzo's mane before him. The fur was cool and soft on his face.

They broke the surface in darkness. McCree gasped and coughed and rubbed water out of his eyes, breathless and soaking and cold. Hanzo's back was a few inches below the water, and McCree shook his hair out of his eyes and found that they were in cool, blessed darkness under one of the wide stone bridges.

"That was well done, Hanzo." Lucio wheezed, coughing river water and thumping his own chest with a fist. He slid gracelessly off Hanzo's back and bobbed to the surface again. "See you later, good luck, don't get eaten." He coughed again, as if it had been a point he was making, and began swimming to shore.

It was practically pitch dark under here, no Omukade or it's fire to light their way.

"McCree," Lucio hauled himself up onto the little wooden jetty that ran under the bridge. "Come on, Hanzo's got to draw Omukade off."

McCree coughed river water and the taste of oily black smoke covered his tongue. He blinked down at himself. Soaking wet and still clinging to Hanzo, his left hand buried in thick, golden fur. Even when it was soaking wet, under water, Hanzo's mane moved just the same, light and fine and brilliant gold in the gloom.

"McCree?" Hanzo whispered.

First time he hasn't snarled since he got back this size, McCree thought and looked up. Hanzo's head was a little above the water, and McCree could just make out the silhouette of his profile, half turned back to McCree.

McCree opened his mouth to make some reply. There was a lot on McCree's mind just now. His thoughts were dragged back to a fifteen year old memory, to Winston telling him to take his hand off his gun, to the ache under his ribs. Dragged relentlessly back and back and back to Omukade’s shell cracking under bullet fire, each shot casting sparks, which made no sense… But the greatest of his thoughts was an uneasy guilt that had been growing in him since he'd lost the warm, pearl-smooth weight of Hanzo at his neck.  

Then Omukade let out a roar, only a few streets away from them and a white hot glimmer lit the river just past the edge of the bridge.

McCree forced himself to let his hand comb once more through Hanzo’s mane and let go, tucked Peacekeeper into place at his side, and slipped quietly sideways and down into the water.

Omukade was tearing through the village. The sound of splintering wood and tumbling rock rang out hollow between the river and the underside of the bridge, making Lucio flinch. Closer now. McCree found the slope of the river bank under his boots and got a hand on the jetty, but turned back.

Hanzo was watching him, eyes reflecting gold in the darkness. He opened his mouth, then hesitated.

“Hanzo you’ve gotta go.” Lucio’s voice was low and urgent.

McCree was perfectly still in the water, looking back and Hanzo with a jumble of desperate, half formed thoughts scratching at the inside of his head. In one horrible moment, McCree realized the dull ache inside his ribs came from Hanzo, not him.  

"Hanzo, go!" Lucio snapped, apparently pushed past patience and into exasperated. "I'll take care of him, he'll be _fine_. GO."

Hanzo snapped his mouth shut, teeth gleaming in the bare light of Omukade's next roar. He ducked smoothly into the water, and vanished without a ripple.

McCree stood panting, perfectly silent in the darkness with Lucio. He discovered he'd taken a step back down into the river, towards where Hanzo had been and Lucio was holding onto him. He stood still, unwilling to ruffle the water, and then both flinched when they heard Omukade roar with renewed eagerness, and a horrible rending crash of someone's garden wall being crushed.

McCree took an involuntary step down river when Hanzo roared back.

"No," Lucio whispered, hauling McCree up towards the jetty and falling back into his own language to mutter a few curses.

Lucio did his best, but finally simply dragged McCree by main force out from under the bridge and away from the river. McCree went, uncertain and mostly unwilling, and aware that Hanzo was somewhere in the tangle of houses and shops behind him and moving away fast.  He let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding when they crossed a street, and he caught sight of the long blue and gold length of Hanzo flying up the mountainside.

“He’ll be _fine_ ,” Lucio said, holding onto McCree with both hands and leaning back to pull. “McCree just…”

“Hold up,” McCree stopped cold to stare up at Hanzo. Lucio had the option of going on alone or leaning on McCree. He wasn’t moving.

Hanzo was already halfway up the mountainside, his fine blue and gold length trailed by the ugly, oily black line of fire gleaming chitin of Omukade in the trees below him. He cut a swift, direct line up to the mountain top.

Omukade lunged up after Hanzo at the crest of the mountain, and McCree's hand fisted over his chest, over the dull ache inside his ribs that was horrible and unfamiliar. Hanzo leaped away, roared back, and shot a blue-white arrow of lightning full into Omukade's open maw. Hanzo twisted away with the same movement, and darted down, out of sight past the edge of the mountain.

"Whew," Lucio said, sagging sightly and tipping water out of his shoes, one hand braced on McCree for balance. "Come on hurry, castle's this way."

McCree was on the point of following him, was about to turn away when a flash of white fire in the corner of his eye made him turn back. He froze, staring up the mountain, the hair on the back of his neck rising.

Omukade was poised on the crest of the mountain, it's forequarter held up, its chitin gleaming in the low light between the bands of fire where it bent outwards. Then, very slowly, its wide head turned with the movement of a neglected gibbet. It's mouth was a fine band of white under its face. It turned until it was facing down the mountain, towards Hanamura.

Until it seemed to be looking at McCree from the mountaintop. Until they were face to face with only distance between them

"McCree?"

Omukade couldn't see him. There was no way. It was on the other side of the valley and it couldn't possibly-

The outline of the monster against the dark of the sky was suddenly stark and the silhouette clicked something in McCree’s mind. It was so far away... So far away it looked small up there.

There was no way...

Then Omukade tilted and turned and crashed down, roaring, it's voice muffled as it flowed up over the crest of the mountain, and away down the other side and after Hanzo.

"Alright we’re good, all to plan," Lucio was across the street now, ringing out his long hair.

McCree was shaking. He didn’t know when he’d lost his breath but he could hardly breathe now.

There was _no way_.

"You alright?"

"Sure," McCree lied automatically. He pushed a hand down the back of his neck. The goosebumps didn't go away, and the hair bristled out as it had before. He ran water out of his hair and remembered he’d lost his damn hat again. Probably for good this time. Goddamn. He pushed his face into both hands and scrubbed water out of his beard.

"Come on then," Lucio cocked his head. The village was entirely silent. The distant cracks of Omukade's rampage through the forest on the other side of the mountain was dimming.

McCree tipped about a cup of water out of his each of his boots and shook his head like a dog. He tried to keep breathing, slow and even and unhurried. He kept on reminding himself that there was no way Omukade could have seen him from the mountaintop. He was still trying to convince himself of that as he wrung out his serape, and felt a jolt when he realized that this was the end of his brave little half wild horse.

Even the smell of her in the fabric was gone now.

That thought at least, forced his mind to silence.

He followed Lucio after a moment, kept his head down, and held the old serape in his arms for a time as they hurried through the dark, empty streets of Hanamura. It was a little while before McCree swung the old horse blanket he'd used all those years ago back around his shoulders, and broke out in a run towards the castle.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short update because the next bit turned into a BEAST but I'm determined to leave it as one chapter.  
> I'm on [Tumblr](http://leoandlancer.tumblr.com)! Please come by and say hey if you're so inclined =D If you have any requests about what you'd like to read, I'm working on coming up with new fics to work on this fall so hmu!  
> Next update will be posted on Sept 11, and will be the third chapter of Hell to Pay, a McHanzo AU in which McCree is the leader of Deadlock, and Hanzo and Genji became Reyes' lieutenants and kept Blackwatch going.  
> This chapter is unbeta'ed, so any horribly embarrassing spelling and/or grammar mistakes are mine, and I apologize.


	11. It Could be Raining

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to post this chapter and the next one as a single chapter, but I have written and rewritten the next chapter so much i was just holding up this part. I hope you enjoy this, the next part will be up this Thursday.

Hanamura was larger than McCree expected. He'd only seen it from above, or from the mountainside, and it had seemed almost toy-like, more like a model than a place where people had lived. Now he ran through streets crowded with carts lefts abandoned, gardens run feral, shops and houses gone dark and quiet. He hadn’t noticed how hilly Hanamura was.

Ahead of him, Lucio bounded on, jumping up to ride along the sides of houses or over the ridges of garden walls, gaining speed. Then he’d remember McCree, and pause, practically dancing where he stood until McCree could catch up and together they rushed onwards. He left green arcs of light wherever he went, and jumped from wall to wall to road with an agility that looked more like desperation than grace.

"Hold up," McCree panted. He hadn’t anticipated running uphill all the way from the river to the castle. He fumed very quietly that even here, in a town designed for people, he was still a slowpoke compared to Lucio.

"We don't know how long Hanzo can keep Omukade away," Lucio turned and skated backwards over stone streets, looking at McCree while still making progress. "We gotta hurry."

"Sure," McCree was soaking wet from the river, his hat was gone forever, and the most terrible monster McCree had ever seen was chasing Hanzo somewhere over the mountain ridge. McCree wanted very badly to put his head down somewhere and wake up when everything wasn’t his problem anymore. "Just a few questions, Lucio I just have a few questions."

"Ok," Lucio said. He was still skating backwards and made a hard left turn without needing to look behind him.

"Really?" McCree followed Lucio around the corner and blinked as the huge shape of a castle loomed up at the far end of the street. That had looked a lot smaller from a distance as well.

"Ask your questions, just keep moving," Lucio beckoned him onwards, turning to race ahead. "I got some questions of my own."

"Ah, right," McCree took a minute to think. He had expected Lucio to turn him down flat, laugh him off, or gently deflect McCree outright. He took a breath, thought about his next words, and waited until Lucio came out from the shadow of one house, and out into the light of the moon.

"Genji ain’t dead, is he."

Lucio stopped cold on the street.

It was so abrupt, McCree almost ran straight into his back. He suddenly realized he'd never seen Lucio utterly, perfectly still before. Certainly nothing like this.

"You think so? Or you just hope your dragon ain't guilty of fratricide?"

McCree was inches away from Lucio, taller than him by almost a head, but he took a step away when Lucio's tone cut through him.

"I don't think you'd be helping your dragon’s murderer if he was really gone," McCree kept his voice low and even, and very, very calm. "You practically told me you wouldn't. You made sure I thought about what I'd do if Hanzo was killed, and I’m only here by accident and necessity. Nothing like you, you were wanted."

Lucio shrugged, mouth tipped in a friendly little smile. His poise was coming back to him, that rigid stillness worn away somehow. "I think you’re underselling..."

"Seems to me," McCree talked over him, "if our positions were reversed, I'd be doing everything I could to get some measure of revenge."

Lucio went still again.

They stood like that in the dark, in the cool night air with the moon shining full down upon them. It was so quiet McCree couldn't even hear a cricket.

"You think I'm trying to get Hanzo killed?" Lucio's voice was flat and low in the darkness.

"I think you're capable of it," McCree said, perfectly honest. "I don't know if you'd be so inclined."

Lucio turned and looked up at McCree, his eyes bright in the moonlight. They stared at each other for a few moments, each of them silent, waiting, sizing the other up.

"Genji died," Lucio said at last. “Hanzo really killed him."

The words seemed to jar something loose inside him, and Lucio made a quick, decisive sideways shove with his skates to start himself off again.

McCree followed and kept his silence this time. He’d wait.

Hanamura streets were straight, but not long: neighborhoods dug in deep with short streets and crowded buildings. Walkways began criss crossing the street over their heads as they approached the castle. The buildings were taller, and older, and they were still running uphill, goddamnit.

"You felt it, right?" Lucio broke the silence when they were passing a gaming parlor, the wide sign over the door in bright paint McCree couldn't read. "This morning. When that Inquisitor took Hanzo from you."

Lucio reached out with his right hand, and then made a tight fist, as if to illustrate. McCree shied away from the gesture before he realized what he was doing.

"Under my ribs," McCree said, he'd unconsciously pushed his hand flat to his chest. "Like a weight, but, it hurt. God, it damn near froze me."

Lucio slowed as they passed under a walkway that crossed the street above them. In the dark gloom, Lucio shook his head. "I felt Genji die. I could hear him. I knew..."

They stood in silence for a moment, and McCree watched Lucio’s hands cover the centre of his chest, like covering an old wound that wouldn't heal.

McCree forced himself to stay still, though the memory of that sudden vicious pain in his chest was brutal.

"Sorry," McCree said instead.

Lucio shook his head. "It's..." He paused. "I don't hate Hanzo," he said suddenly. "I know you would hate Genji if... But listen, I'm doing everything I can to help him. I swear I want him to live through this."

McCree couldn't tell if that was a lie, and just shrugged. "He's desperate, ain't he? Hanzo, I mean."

Lucio snorted, breaking the tension. "You’ve seen what we’re up against.”

“No, I mean,” McCree shifted his weight, looking for the right words. Trying to forget the silky thickness of Hanzo’s mane between his fingers. Trying to forget the stone cold weight of flat terror that froze his gut whenever Hanzo was large enough to snap McCree in half, again. Trying to forget Hanzo’s austere, ice-cold disgust, barely looking at McCree even when he could kill him so, so easily. “Hanzo taking me on. He didn’t mean to make me favoured. It happened because he had to, didn’t he.”

“I didn’t think Hanzo would ever take a favoured,” Lucio tipped his head to the side, and looked up at McCree. “But McCree, I’ll be honest with you, Hanzo can’t be forced to do anything. He chose you.”

"He didn’t want to. He just wanted to hire a hunter and I was dumb enough to wander up. He just couldn’t hold out for anything better and then it just…” McCree rubbed his chest again, “Hell if I know how this works."

"I wonder if Hanzo knows," Lucio suddenly gave a snort of laughter. "Actually, I don't have to. He doesn't. Or he wouldn't have fucked up so bad."

"Thank you for that," McCree said sourly.

"No I don’t mean..." Lucio reached out to McCree. When McCree tensed, Lucio pulled his hand back slowly, and frowned up at him.

"Hanzo's proud," Lucio shrugged. "And so insufferably self sufficient. I never thought he’d ever take on anyone as a favoured. If I’d heard about this second hand? I’d have called someone a liar."

"Trust me, I know it’s temporary." McCree said. His voice stayed calm, kept the right tone and drawl, kept any hint of disappointment out of his words even as it burned on his tongue.

"Nope, it ain’t that," Lucio shook his head. "Not how that works. He's a dragon; you’ve entered a contract. There's a bond. It wasn’t an accident and it can’t have been made one sided. You both have this now. You're bound to each other."

McCree wasn't sure if it was panic he was feeling, or relief. Then he remembered Hanzo's teeth glinting in the moonlight, snarling at him to get on, the stiff way he'd looked away from McCree when he no longer needed McCree's protection.

"He'll find a way out of that," McCree said quietly.

"Come on." Lucio turned away from him, frowning, and crossed the short steps over a restaurant's door.

Across the street, there was a wall so wide and so tall McCree had mistakenly assumed it was the side of a warehouse. He might not have noticed it had a gate if Lucio hadn’t shoved at it halfheartedly. Dimly in the moonlight, he could see the circular crest of two dragons, each chasing the other, centered on the doorway.

"Shoot." McCree blinked, took a step back, and looked up, way up, to try and see where the doors goddamn ended and if clouds were piling up on them. "How the hell..."

A glimmer of green light caught his attention. Lucio was switchbacking up the wall, smoothly climbing, and then made a final jump and skated through a window in the wall twenty five feet up to McCree’s left.

"Oh hell," McCree put a hand to his head, remembered he'd lost his damn hat when his hand fell on his wet hair, and scowled.

"Wait, you can't climb that, can you?" Lucio's voice called up faintly from the other side.

"No, so I'll see you in hell," McCree called straight back.

There was a clank of chains from the far side along with Lucio snickering, then the gate door on the right creaked, drew back a foot, and Lucio grinned at him from the gap. "Come on."

"So considerate," McCree mimed a mocking little hat tip as he slipped in through the gate door.

"Uh huh." Lucio seemed to consider it, then left the gate doors open, and skated down the wall to the right. "This way."

McCree followed him around a courtyard with a sunken stone garden in its centre, with a pagoda and a massive bell across from the gate. He could see nothing but darkness on the far side, and tried to remember seeing this castle from the mountain. It had been on a rise, built into the side of the hill, so one of its walls turned into a sheer cliff face. He'd watched Omukade pour himself off the side of that cliff on the porch. McCree tried to adjust his sense of direction.

"While we're on the subject of questions," Lucio said as they passed through a carved gateway in yet another wall and left the rock garden behind them. "I got one."

"Sure," McCree said, standing at the top of a set of steps and staring around at the new courtyard. There were cherry trees in bloom around a gazebo and the castle rose huge and grand above him. He stared up at it with his mouth open. "Shoot."

"You lost your left arm, didn't you. That one's magical."

McCree missed a step and nearly fell directly down the stairs. His mind snapped away from staring in wonder at Hanzo’s castle and back to Lucio just in time to hear his mouth talking on automatic.

"I lived inside an Opinicon for years. You think I could have hidden something like an entire magical arm from a group of people trained to hunt down and kill me for something exactly like that?"

"Sure you could," Lucio said, coasting down the steps ahead of him onto a stone walkway. "You had a talented engineer to build a prosthetic, the sheriff to vouch for you, and you're a hell of a good liar."

McCree's mouth was already open, but he made an effort and shut it, then stood dumbly until Lucio paused and looked back at him.

"Monster Hunters have no magic.” McCree said quietly. "It's part of the job requirement. Hell, it's very nearly the entire job description."

"I hate to be the one to point this out, but you are a monster hunter who is soul bound to protect a _dragon_ and you are working closely with _me_ to do so.” Lucio held up his right hand; green light pulsed to a beat McCree could faintly hear across this distance, could feel in the rhythm of his heartbeat. "Whatever your job description was before? You’ve got a new one now."

McCree tried to ignore the way the palm of his left hand ached and burned like a dying sun under the skin. Something that couldn't feel pain shouldn't be able to hurt him like this. He resisted the urge to cradle his left hand in his right. "It's just wrapped up. Bad burn that never healed well."

Lucio shrugged, "Ok."

They fell quiet as they peeked around the gazebo. The castle loomed, all its windows dark, the main entryway a torn open gap in the wall with nothing but silent darkness beyond. Lucio began coasted up to the doorway, a little green dart of music and light, and McCree followed him.

There was a faint breeze at their backs as they approached the darkness. McCree felt the pull of the draft as a weight on his back, cold though his wet clothes. The silence inside the yawning darkness of the castle was unnerving.

Lucio turned away from the main doors. "I hate going in that way. It never works unless you're in a group. Come on."

McCree followed Lucio back towards a set of stairs on the right side of the courtyard. They climbed up to a covered walkway, and McCree felt a little better somehow with a roof and half walls around him for cover. His talk with Lucio felt sour and unfinished, both of them more on guard now than they had been. It yanked at his attention.

"There’s nothing special about me," McCree said quietly, trying to find a way to end this discussion. The thought didn’t trouble him; it was probably his only distinguishing characteristic between everyone he’d met since he’d shot a dragon in the face. "Lucio, I don't know why you're so invested in the idea I’m anything more than a man out for gold, but it won't matter once this is over. Hanzo's made it real clear what he thinks of keeping humans around underfoot."

Lucio didn't answer him as they crossed out from under the covered walkway and into a small yard high on the wall with a stone statue of a leaping fish at its centre. There was barely any light, and Lucio moved slowly, his skates quiet.

"You can make all the excuses you want," Lucio replied, edging towards a yawning black doorway, "But you got to stop assuming you know what Hanzo thinks of you."

"Oh, he’s made that pretty clear..." McCree said, thinking of the teeth, the snarl in his voice when McCree backed away from him. Thinking of the disdain and the impatience and the way Hanzo turned away from him.

"Yes, yes, he absolutely has," Lucio muttered.

McCree didn't know why he felt like Lucio had won that argument, but they fell silent as they edged in through a much smaller door into the castle. By the pale green glow from Lucio, they made their way past an opening to their left, and straight on up a set of stairs and out onto an open gallery.

It was pitch dark past the edge of the platform, and when McCree walked softly to the edge, he could just barely see a wide, empty floor down below him, lit by the pale grey cast through the doorway across the hall. He had no concept of how high the ceiling went above him, but the air inside the hall gave the sense of wide open space. The smell of oily smoke, charred wood, and burnt hair was rank.

Taking a step back from the long drop, McCree listened, strained to hear anything, any noise at all. But the silence of the castle was terrifying. It made his ears ring, made the sound of his own heartbeat, his own breath, the shift and grate of his bones, loud to him.

Holding his breath in the darkness, his face towards the vast emptiness of the hall, McCree felt the hair on the back of his neck rise.

"McCree?" Lucio was waiting for him at a door on the right side of the gallery.

"This was the dragon’s place, right?" McCree stood a little way back from the edge, peering down. He could just make out the floor below him in the gloom. It was scarred with long furrows, the scrape of Omukade's legs. The wood was cracked and charred in places.

"They held court here, yeah," Lucio shimmied in place a little. "Come on, you can explore this place when we retake it."

McCree spared another look around in the darkness, "Did you live here?"

"No," Lucio said. He slipped backwards through the door, and down a few steps.

McCree followed him down, "So you stayed in Rio?"

"I stayed with Genji, we all did."

"But not here?"

They reached a platform above the hall floor. Now on level with the opening to the porch, and out the main doors to the courtyard, McCree could see some of the damage Omukade had left, ripping himself in and out of here. The hall felt vast around him, and he began to grudgingly accept that something the size of a train really could live indoors.

"This way."

Lucio led him to the right, down a short hall and into a small room with a sunken floor in its centre and a kimono on a stand on one side.

"If this is the dragons castle, why the hell'd you not get an invite?" McCree asked, still stuck on the idea. The castle was clearly enormous, enough room for Lucio to sleep somewhere. He was five foot three, the castle could probably stretch to accommodate him. "Or does Genji have a thing about keeping humans around too?"

Lucio snorted out a laugh, "Nah, Genji liked us to be together when we could manage it. At least, the five of us together while he sprinted ahead of us."

He made his way straight through the back of the room to the wood and paper panels and slid one aside with an effort. The doorway was pitch dark and Lucio slipped through, his light glowing faintly through the paper of the door.

McCree had to wonder if Lucio was being more careful about referring to Genji in the past tense now.

He followed Lucio and slid the door shut again.They were in a wide, high ceilinged hallway, lined with paper panels that glowed faint green thanks to Lucio. The light ended abruptly about twelve metres away; the darkness and silence past that point was absolute.

"Genji didn't spend a lot of time here. He liked travelling, finding new worlds to explore and... Hey, what, why??" Lucio stopped cold when he glanced aside at McCree.

McCree passed him before he stopped himself, and cocked his head at Lucio. Without the noise of their footfalls, McCree strained to hear something, anything. He'd have welcomed the noise of a third patter of feet.

But there was nothing.

"McCree, your gun. You see something?"

McCree tightened his right hand and found Peacekeeper warm and solid and reassuring. He couldn't think when he'd drawn it.

"I ain't seen or heard nothing, and Lucio, I don't much like that." McCree pushed Peacekeeper back in its holster. He kept his hand on it though.

Lucio frowned and cocked his head as if to listen. "We'll have plenty of company soon, we just need to free them from the luxurious undercroft which is of course, the dungeon. But don’t tell Hanzo I said so."

"I’ll take your secret to the grave. Lead on.”

Lucio pushed off and skated forwards. He moved much more quickly, though they still kept silent, and Lucio kept the light in his hand and under his feet as low as McCree had ever seen it.

"Genji explored a lot of new worlds, liked to meet new people. It was why he had so many favored," Lucio was picking up speed now. "Partly because he needed help, partly because he could meet so many people. He liked a lot of folks."

"Sure." McCree glanced left and right as they ran. There were paneled doors on either side of him, and many had been left open, or panels torn out at knee height. He caught glimpses of rooms beyond, shapes and edges in the dark. He could smell dead flowers and rotting food and burned wool.

"This way." Lucio skidded neatly to a stop in front of a door, and seemed to realize in that instant that the door before him had been torn apart. He hesitated, staring at the wreckage with his head to one side.

“Lucio,” McCree said quietly. His hand on Peacekeeper tightened.

Lucio didn’t wait. He jumped down two short steps, and began racing along a stone floor. The hallway was narrower here, and sloped gently down. There were shapes in the darkness, crumpled at the edges of the wall, but Lucio was racing so quickly McCree had run to keep up.

"Slow down," McCree called after him. The stink of burnt wool was thick down here. Charred meat.

"We're almost there." Lucio jumped up, rode along the wall, then dove from left to right, carving green arcs of radiance on both walls, accelerating.

Ash gritted under foot. There were things crumpled in the corners and McCree couldn’t keep up.

"Lucio," McCree snarled. The air was smokey down here. "Stop."

"They're here," Lucio dropped off the wall with a clatter of skates, and jumped a wide, short flight of steps into a high ceilinged square room.

McCree thought it was empty at first glance. The walls were cut stone four feet up, then dark wood above that. The high ceiling was thick beamed and stained with smoke. There were old scorch marks on the wood where brackets for torches should have burned. In the centre of the stone floor was a trapdoor, eight feet square, thick wood and bound in iron and carved with the circle of the two dragons.

It had been torn up, ripped apart and thrown aside.

Lucio stood stock still over the dark edge of the hole that was left.

"Light," McCree said with low urgency, "Lucio, don't move, we need light."

"They're not..." Lucio was staring down, his eyes far away, face blank. "I can't see them."

"Give me light," McCree said. The words caught in his throat, dragged up a memory of stone under his bloody hands, feeling his way by touch through the pitch dark as tears streamed down his face.

"They're not..." Lucio stared around, hollow eyed.

"Light." McCree got a hand on Lucio's shoulder and shook him a little. "Something ain't right."

Lucio looked up at him, eyes wide and McCree was suddenly struck by how young Lucio was. Not a child, and powerful enough to belong here, but the stark wide eyes of confusion and the edge of panic was painful to see. He thought of himself, thirteen years ago, crying in the dark.

Lucio blinked when McCree squeezed his shoulder, swayed and leaned into McCree's hand. "Ok." His expression shut down for a moment, his attention turning inward, and the light under his feet rose until McCree could make out more than the edges of things. Lucio raised his left hand, green light shining in his palm, and McCree could see detail.

"Shit."

The brutally crumpled, charred remains of a few sheep, chickens, and a pig lay in clusters of ash all around them. The air was thick with smoke.

There were hundreds of footprints in the ash on the floor, scuffed and frantic, blood spattered about, drag marks, places where the ash had been raked by fingers clawing for a handhold.

"No no no," Lucio said softly. "No, this wasn't... that's not what..."

"Easy," McCree said. He was trying to count the shattered remains; candlemonsters by the dozen had been in here and left the charred, broken animals they’d used for cores.

Lucio shrugged McCree’s hand off and jumped headlong down the pit. McCree gave a bark of alarm, and stared after him, relieved as he caught sight of Lucio simply jumping from landing to landing down a switchback flight of stairs, trailing light like a comet.

"Lucio!"

"They should be here!" Lucio yelled back, "They needed to be here, to wait for us!"

McCree wanted to call back to him, wanted Lucio out of there, wanted to search the dungeon himself and save Lucio from the task. He couldn't move, could barely breathe.

Twenty feet down a square stone pit, Lucio began skidding back and forth his light darting and dimming.

His voice rang up off the stone, calling and calling for his friends until his voice broke in a sob.

McCree's heel knocked against the lowest of the stone steps before he realized he'd been backing away. His heart was thudding hard and fast on his ribs. Lucio's heartbroken voice echoed up the square pit in the stone and rang in his ears in the dark.

"Lucio," McCree swallowed hard. His mind was back under the stars of the plains, back in the dark night with his family out there somewhere. He had screamed for them until his voice broke, until there was blood in his throat and he was sick with the thundering silence. "Lucio, stop."

Somewhat to his surprise, Lucio did. Then he shot up out of the pit in a blaze that shone stark and horrible over the charred, torn, dead, crumbling livestock, the broken door, and the frantic, desperate marks in the ash.

"We have to find them," Lucio gasped. He was bright eyed, on that razor’s edge between fear and fury.

"Keep the light up and don't get ahead of me." McCree knew better than to argue. "Anything down there?"

"More dead scouts, dead... pigs and stuff. some cows..." Lucio was shaking. "They needed to wait for us, we had a plan, they wouldn't just..."

"I meant any dead people." McCree had already turned and loped back up the way they'd come.

"Oh." Lucio let out a breath, realizing, "No."

"You know the Hanamurans better than I do. But if there was no killin’ down there, that means they either were able to defend themselves, or they were wanted alive.  So you need to believe in them, trust that they know what to do."

There were more crumpled beasts in the edges of the hallway, the leavings of dead candlemonsters. More ash and splatters and crumbling chitin. Hundreds of footprints in the ash underfoot, and they had been moving at a run up this wide hallway.

"Omukade eats people," Lucio's voice was hoarse. "What if after we made the plan they got rounded up and..."

"Oh it was a ‘we’ that made this plan? I goddamn knew it. You never made this fool plan on your own," McCree cut in, hoping to distract Lucio.

"The rest of my team were imprisoned here!” Lucio snapped back instantly, bristling. "I wasn't about to..."

"This way," McCree swung left, following the trail, and they pushed their way out into the wide, open space of the main hallway.

Now in the bright light of Lucio's rampage, McCree could see the hall had been torn up much worse than he'd thought. There were charred marks on the paper, gouges in the wood. The ash from the dungeon was faint now, barely visible, but McCree was running on decades of instinct and habit and he made a right through a doorway torn open wide and left crumpled to one side.

Lucio ran with him, keeping pace instead of running ahead for once in his life and McCree was fighting for breath. This felt all too much like thirteen year ago, running wild and desperate to outpace the thing in the darkness. Desperate to find someone, anyone that he loved.

The room they found themselves in was wide but not deep, and the entire wall to the outside had been torn away and trampled flat, the paper and panels laid out over a raised wooden deck above an orchard. McCree could see cherry trees as he burst out from under the covered walkway with Lucio. It was easy to follow the tracks through the grass outside. He ran, with Lucio beside him, after hundreds of people who had clawed at the earth when they'd fallen, been dragged and made bloody. Branches had been broken from the trees, the flowers and gardens trampled flat. Gouges were clawed deep into the earth and McCree thought of the pointed legs of the candle monsters that had driven like nails into his skin.

Lucio was past speaking now, just gasping beside McCree, and gave a little whine as they cleared the orchard and dropped off a low stone wall into a circular yard of packed dirt.

A barnyard, McCree could smell that, so they were probably on the far side of the castle, out back where livestock could be kept during a siege. All penned up together, protected, and given nowhere to run off to.

“Shit.”

Out here under the moonlight, McCree could see cloven hoofprints pressed deep into the dirt under the wide, recent marks left by people. It stank of frightened beasts out here.The breeze whirled up a little spiral of chicken feathers and trampled cherry blossoms.

The wide open yard was as quiet and empty as the rest of the castle.

Lucio slowed beside him as they looked around. There was a low stone barn with a section of it’s roof torn out, empty troughs and bins and the chicken coops were empty and torn wide open.

The footsteps had become muddled: people no longer driven forward at a run, but left to mill around, tracks crossing back and forth through the yard in the packed dirt, some running, some in groups. People moved like any other animal when they were scared. McCree could read the tracks, a panicked flight of people who had made a run for the wall and the drag marks when they'd been brought down, blood still wet on the packed dirt, gouges in the earth where candlemonsters had driven people by the hundred towards the barn built into the stone wall of the castle.

Lucio was staring blankly now, hardly breathing, whispering over and over, "no no no."

The barn stank like animals who had seen their death coming. Lucio edged in only far enough to cast his light inside. He was still calling names, phrases in languages McCree didn't understand, his voice breaking and confused and so terrified it broke McCree's heart.

"Easy," McCree said, unconsciously mimicking Winston's words. He was close enough to shove Lucio out of the barn if what was inside was as horrible as he dreaded.

The barn was empty. Whatever had been in here before had been flatened, torn down and trampled flat. Part of the roof had been torn in, and the wood and stone debris had been simply left in a rough heap. Some lengths of wood were left stacked in a courner. The dirt floor had been torn up horribly here. A fire had caught on one support beam, and another was cracked and splintered almost in two. One hell of a fight had happened here.

Hundreds of people had been driven in through these doors, and none had walked out.

Then his heart skipped a beat when Lucio moved a little further inside, and the gleam of green light shone on black glass.

McCree turned, looked again, and felt his heart begin to pound.

"Are those... legs?" Lucio caught the direction McCree was staring, and turned to look.

Not wood stacked up. The pointed, crooked shapes in the dark had been torn from Omukade's flanks. Black glass gleaming in Lucio’s light, there were a few broken off legs lying in a little heap.

"It can't just tear off its own legs." Lucio looked like he was going to be sick.

"They grow back," McCree heard himself say. "Any number of times."

"So… No." Lucio looked around, looked at the frantic footsteps of the people being driven inside, and then around again. “Why the hell would it tear off it’s own damn legs?”

"How did Omukade take the castle?" McCree asked.

"It was...It started around here six... seven? Years ago. But it wasn't big before, maybe only the size of a horse? I only saw it once. But it vanished, went away, then..." Lucio paused, mouth open, eyes far away. "Then it came back, with a swarm of the little, with the scouts, candlemonsters, and it attacked Hanzo. The candlemonsters destroyed the food stores in the village, rounded up the live stock and drove them away. It never ate any. We thought... We thought it was just trying to starve us..."

"Why attack only Hanzo?" McCree took a step towards the stack of broken off legs. There had been a hell of a heap of them here, the lowest ones were pressed down into the dirt from the weight.

"Genji… wasn’t around. We weren't here. So when we came back I guess Omukade had been attacking for a while." Lucio sounded hollow.

McCree knew in that instant that if Lucio hadn't been so shaken, he would never have admitted to that.

"So Hanzo was alone. Facing that attack." McCree stooped, and reached out to touch the black glass surface of one broken leg.

"Yeah. For..." Lucio shifted uneasily. "Genji had been gone for a while. I don't know when Omukade showed up but Hanzo was..."

McCree took a breath, thinking of Hanzo, alone in this vast castle, with the rampaging Omukade swarming the walls, raking at him, thought of Hanzo's bolts splashing harmlessly off the black chitin.

Black glass.

McCree's hand was flat against the side of one ugly, crooked leg. It was as cool and hard as gemstone.

"That ain't right." His mind was back at the Opinicon. Inside the storage room, inside the trunk he'd painted yellow and red, inside the little jam jar with the shard of black glass inside, _plink-clink-plink_. "Can't be."

"Well Hanzo likes being on his own," Lucio said defensively "It wasn't... "

"No," McCree shook his head. He slipped his glove off and with the tips of his fingers, felt the edge of the break in the leg. Sharp as a razor. Nothing degraded. Only when there was a fire inside them, only when some poor beast had been crammed in so tightly their bones broke and they were set alight did this glass begin to degrade. And even then, only after it had been broken.

Nothing like the things back home.

"Making other creatures out of pieces of itself ain't right, it ain't..." McCree went to shift his hat and his hand fell onto his damp hair insead. He cursed quietly but with deep feeling. He'd never see his damn hat again. "We had things that looked a little like this at home," McCree rose abruptly and shoved his hand back in his glove. "But being able to create a new monster from pieces of itself ain't something from my world. That's... they don't have magic like that in my world."

"McCree, where is everyone?" Lucio stared into the darkness of the barn.

McCree opened his mouth, closed it again.

The silence pressed down on them. The thundering silence that only came from a huge place that was utterly empty. Empty except for the last of a stockpile of Omukade’s own legs.

McCree remembered the swarm that had attacked the cabin on the mountainside, remembered killing them with Dead Eye shooting until blood dripped down his face. _Damn near wiped out Omukade’s army,_ Lucio had said.

Dead soldiers need replacing.

"Lucio..." McCree said softly. They were standing in an empty barn, a dwindling supply of hoarded broken off legs and claw marks in the dirt. “We might be too late for the villagers.”

"So where the hell..." Lucio’s jaw set and he looked around, his eyes focused far past the edges of the barn.

"You’re the real favoured here, can you… see your team? You said you could. You know where they are? Anything?" McCree clung to what Lucio had said this morning, about being able to sense his teammates. "Calm down, find them. I can’t help you with that."

"I’m trying." Lucio was still casting around, biting his lip, his arms curled up over his chest like an empty cradle. "I promised I'd be here. I promised I'd come for them."

McCree felt his gut go cold. He didn't realize before, but he was shaking with the effort of keeping his mind here, in this present. Lucio's words were ringing against the long dark memory of that night in the plains. That nightmare that left him all alone. He couldn't speak.

Standing in the doorway to the barn with the wide trampled yard behind them, the silence of the place was thorough enough to be devastating. Nothing moved, nothing breathed. McCree could just hear his own heartbeat and the faint pulse of Lucio’s music.

"I promised I'd come back."

Lucio frowned, trembling with readiness to move, burst out to race to someone, anyone’s aid.

"Take it ea..." McCree started, then froze. He drew Peacekeeper.

There was no sound, no threat, but Lucio had gone rigid, the breathless stillness before pain or panic, his eyes wide, focused on something far, far away..

"Lucio?" McCree glanced around, Lucio was staring away and slightly down, eyes focused at a distance, totally blank. "Lucio, can you see..."

"There," Lucio whispered.

Quite suddenly Lucio cocked his head as if to listen and, incredibly, looked outraged. He stared out past the limits of the dark barn.

"Oh no. He wouldn’t."

"Lucio." McCree reached out, scared as he realized just how lean Lucio looked right now, just how starved of something essential to him. "Tell me what's..."

Before McCree could touch him, Lucio’s head came up and he thrust his left hand up and the green light blazed from under his feet and in his hand.

Lucio was rocketing out from the barn, curving out into the yard and accelerating.

"Lucio!" McCree scrambled to catch up.

"We have to go," Lucio yelled back, "Plan’s changed—let’s go!!"

"We need to regroup!" McCree chased frantically after Lucio. He jumped the low rock wall with one hand on the top and fought to keep up as they raced through the ravaged orchard. "We need Hanzo! Lucio!"

"Yes, that’s the plan! We are grouping up! Right now! Because some moron ran out ahead and is crying for healing and—" Lucio skidded sideways into the wide, gutted room and through its broken open doors to the main hallway again. "Hurry!"

"Slow down!" McCree snarled. "Lucio, wait!"

Lucio didn't answer. He was skating flat out, leaving long arcs of green light burning behind him and the gap between them was widening.

"Lucio you need to stop a minute! Come back!" McCree had to keep it together, had to stay with Lucio. Had to remember that he was here and now and the nightmare of his night when he lost everything was behind him.

"Hurry!" Lucio yelled back, "no way am I being left behind again!"

There was an edge in his voice and McCree knew in that second Lucio wasn’t going to wait for him.

"Wait!" McCree called after him anyways, "What happened?!"

"Villagers are out of the castle, they’re running with my team!" Lucio shot on. "If Hanzo’s dragged Omukade out after them by accident they’re going to die!"

"Slow down!" McCree shouted. Ahead of him, Lucio burst up through the doorway into the room with the sunken floor and the kimono on a rack. He felt slow and heavy the instant he lost sight of Lucio. Panting, McCree ran after him, up into the room and it’s sunken floor, out through the hallway onto the platform above the main hall.

Lucio’s music was ringing off the walls, the green light of his flight blazing out almost too bright to look at. He was already almost out of the main doorway.

"Lucio, wait!"

McCree dropped off the edge of the platform, and landed on the open floor of the main hall just as Lucio's green glow flicked out from the doors. McCree heard the slice and clatter of Lucio's skates, heard him call back, and McCree's mind went blank with agony.

He went down quite quietly, the pain too sudden and too consuming to even scream through. It left him hollow and empty and Lucio never noticed. McCree was alone in the main hall of Shimada castle when he felt Hanzo get torn open. Somewhere Hanzo was being split open and laid bare and McCree had no idea how long he was down fighting to breathe, but when he managed to look around he was on his knees, curled in over himself. His side was whole and clean and uninjured even through the agony. The ache that had been growing in his ribs was accute, a sudden, demanding directive. McCree found himself upright pushed onward, drawn out and up because somewhere out there, Hanzo was in trouble, Hanzo needed McCree.

"Goddamnit," McCree said, then stopped. "Well god..."

He stopped, still panting, in the very center of the main hall.

The floor under his boots was gouged with claw marks, some a foot deep and six inches wide. There had been a woven mat, but was now torn and crumpled up against the edges of the platform or left to spill over the floor and into a sunken channel under the main door. There was a bridge over the channel, flanked by the remains of two huge lanterns, and a stairway heading down from the left. McCree turned around slowly; main door ahead of him, doorway to the porch on his right, behind him was a hanging with elegant calligraphy and a bloody slash on the bottom corner. Above that was a vast mural on the wall, cloudy shapes and two dragons woven together.

McCree blinked. He hadn't noticed any of this before, it had been too dark.

There was light now though, candlelight.

McCree scanned slowly around the empty vault of the hall. Empty, quiet, and lit by the gentle glow of candlelight from above.

His breath caught in his throat. It was dead silent in the hall, and Lucio was far away by now. Hanzo far beyond him.

McCree looked up. The ceiling was a three-tiered vault rising above him, a ceiling higher than any church he'd ever seen.

Every square foot above him was thick with candlemonsters. The edges of rafters and beams lumpy and boiling over with black chitin. They seemed dozy, moving slowly as though just waking but one by one they opened their mouths, and swung around to look down into the hall, where McCree stood alone.

"Oh hell," McCree didn’t know what he was doing until he felt pain in his right arm. He held his forearm in his left hand and squeezed hard enough to bruise. Hard enough he hoped to god he wasn't the only one who could feel this pain.

Into the stillness of his last moments alive, McCree drew Peacekeeper and screamed Hanzo’s name as the first candlemonster dropped towards him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading! This chapter is specifically dedicated to anyone who plays Lucio and remembers not to outrun your own damn team and stays with them.  
> Next chapter will be up Nov 15. Thank you for your patience.  
> Many thanks to Windlion who beta read this chapter, and if you would care to stop by, I have a [Tumblr](http://leoandlancer.tumblr.com)! Please come say hi, or let me know if you have any questions.


	12. It's Basically Raining

Lucio had been wrong when he assumed Hanzo could outrun Omukade.

Hanzo had spent over six weeks fighting Omukade in increasingly one-sided skirmishes. He was perfectly aware of Omukade’s superiority in almost every respect, but natural pride had made it impossible for Hanzo to admit it.

Which meant that Hanzo was flying faster than he ever had in his life over the crowns of the trees and Omukade was tearing after him. And gaining. Hanzo couldn’t have kept ahead of this monster if he’d had a week’s rest.

Which he hadn’t had for…

Hanzo hadn’t tried to sleep since he’d killed Genji. He knew he’d wake shuddering with the horror and anger and awful, awful necessity of it. Knew if he didn’t dream of Genji it would be of Omukade. Knew it would be the moment he made eye contact with McCree for the first time and took a bullet at point blank range. Knew it would be dragging himself through the streets of Rio bloody and terrified and not even knowing if Lucio would come back with him. Knew it would be one nightmare after another.

Except, he had fallen asleep wrapped up around McCree’s neck. He hadn’t meant to, but the ride from the Opinicon had been warm and peaceful and McCree’s serape was a pleasant barrier between him and the world. He’d dropped off without noticing. He hadn't had any nightmares.

He wasn’t sure if McCree had noticed, but he was not going to ask if he had. McCree had had other things on his mind anyway, and it was the only respite Hanzo had had in so long.

Omukade had no such problems. As far as Hanzo could tell, Omukade spent most of its time snoozing in Hanzo’s castle, eating Hanzo’s people and generally terrorizing Hanzo’s entire valley. That meant that when it wanted to, Omukade could move with the inexorable momentum of a force of nature. It tore through the forest, ripping up trees and trampling over rock outcroppings and climbing up the mountainside leaving a trail fifteen feet wide in its wake.

Hanzo barely made it out of the valley before he knew Lucio’s plan was going to fail.

It wasn’t just that Omukade could run through dense forest faster than Hanzo could fly over it. It wasn’t even the troubling weight in Hanzo’s chest that made flying away from the castle, away from McCree, almost physically painful. Wasn’t even the sheer stupid impossibility of the plan because Hanzo had known from the beginning that it would fail.

It was because Omukade wasn’t actually interested in chasing him.

The further they got from the valley, the more restless and wild Omukade became. It would slow, it’s path would wander, and then it would roar and look away from Hanzo, back the way they came. The first time Omukade turned around, Hanzo was slammed belly down into the trees when Omukade let out a scream that knocked the air out of Hanzo’s lungs. Something behind them made Omukade stop, draw it around, and cant it’s body up so the orange fire blaze from between its plates. It drew itself in and up blazing brighter and brighter, until it thrashed out in a fit of fury that leveled half an acre. Hanzo fought to fly back up as Omukade rounded back with a shattering crash, and started back towards the castle. Towards McCree.

Hanzo shot after it, heart pounding, and dove out of the sky to throw his full weight against the side of Omukade’s head. Omukade barely seemed to notice Hanzo as if for the first time and reached up and around to snap, its mandibles smashing shut. Hanzo barely tucked himself up into the sky and out of reach in time. He darted off, snarling back at Omukade who seemed to waver, then followed. The gap between them shrank as Omukade gained, but then, again, it slowed, began to wander, tearing at the forest around it and giving brief, furrious little barks of fire and rage.

It turned back again.

And again.

Over and over again, Hanzo doubled back. He dove at its head or attacked the myriad legs,  tried to rend the plates of iron-hard chitin apart. Omukade spent less time trying to chase Hanzo, more time leveling the forest around it in seemingly mindless rage. More time trying to return to Hanamura.

Hanzo couldn’t let it go back, not while McCree was there.

Even if he did feel more like a sheepdog than a noble. This was the stupidest thing Hanzo had ever degraded himself to undertake.

Omukade had been hunting Hanzo, and then Genji, with single minded hunger since he’d attacked Hanamura weeks ago. Why was it losing interest so quickly now?

Hanzo knew it was stupid to feel offended but the rejection was so uncalled for it was hard to ignore.

It was humiliating to be reduced to feeling so heavy, hanging in the air panting for breath, wondering how to recapture Omukade’s attention one more time. He watched as Omukade thrashed it’s way around, roaring so the white hot inferno of his open maw cast the trees into stark silhouette and cast fire into the sky. Hanzo dumped the length of his long body into the branches of a tree. He could barely stay airborne, barely _breath_. He was so tired.

Omukade lashed out a quarter of its length out in one violent outburst, and that single motion was enough to level a sizable chunk of forest a rocky outcropping and divert a small river.

Hanzo ducked his head low over his belly to rub his face with both foreclaws. He fought off a sudden, visceral urge to bury himself under McCree’s serape, curl up warm and safe with McCree’s hand over his flank and sleep.

Omukade rounded back towards the valley, crawling over itself in its frustration and impatience and set back off with a wail Hanzo could only describe as petulant. Hanzo took a breath, felt nothing, and had to try again, digging in to find enough power to focus, drawback, and fire a bolt after Omukade. He watched the blue flash of light splash harmlessly off the back of Omukade’s head and tried to recover after such a little exertion.

“Here!” Hanzo snarled, raising his voice until it cracked through the trees in a roar. He rose back up from the trees, mane prickling full of spikes, scales edged out, teeth bared. “I’m here! Leave the castle and fight!”

It was stupid and reckless and Hanzo felt like Genji would have approved when he shot after Omukade’s retreating form. Hanzo felt like a toy next to this monster. Even in his true form, at the largest size he could take, he was just half of Omukade’s length, and only a quarter as thick.

But he was still strong, and heavy, and anger was more powerful than elegance or training sometimes. Hanzo found some petty pleasure tackling Omukade with the full weight of his true form and driving its gaping, white-hot maw six feet down into stony topsoil and shattered tree stumps. Orange flame belched out from between the black chitin in response, it’s body crumpling as momentum caught up to it. Hanzo floated back up, surprised how very satisfying that had been, and waiting for Omukade to drag its face up out of the forest floor.

Which was why he didn’t see Omukade’s tail scything towards him in a wild, blind arc.

There was a lot of Omukade, and while one fifth of it was struggling to raise its head out of the forest floor, three fifths had grounded itself, and swung it tail around like a hammer blow. Hanzo wasn’t looking for it, hadn’t expected an attack. It caught him over his back and side, the legs ripping through him one after another in blinding succession like the teeth of a saw. He gave a short, sharp bark of pain and slammed into the ruins of his forest, torn and bleeding and stunned. A wide patch of his side was missing scales, bleeding freely, each of the legs scoring a different wound where the skin was exposed.

It could be strangely easy to notice stars when you’re about to die. The mind reaching out for something familiar and easy. It was a clear night and the air was cool and Hanzo lay crumpled over himself, twisted over shattered trees and cracked stone looking up at the dark sky and tried to breathe. Tried to think. He needed to move, fly, to run... McCree might have felt that, might know Hanzo was hurt? McCree...

The mountain seemed to tremble as Omukade tore its head out of the soil with a roar of triumph and the stink of charred earth and burning wood.

Heat suddenly seared against Hanzo's belly. He heard the clack of mandibles opened wide. He felt more than saw that massive white hot mouth gaping open above him.

 _Go small_ , Lucio had said. When had Hanzo allowed himself to consider Genji’s favored their shotcaller? He thought of running, of white fur and black claws and the speed and agility of his third form, and forced the change.

A wolf fell from the broken tangle of trees as Omukade snapped his jaws shut and Hanzo crashed to the ground ten feet below in a mass of bloody fur.

Get around it, Hanzo thought, struggling onto his four paws and shaking himself as if that could clear his head. Small and fast was his only chance now, smaller, harder to track--

Omukade roared in fury and punched an arc of itself through the already broken forest, driving trees and rocks and piling up the forest floor as it shoved itself hard and fast towards Hanzo like a wall.

Hanzo jerked into motion, bounding forwards with less than his usual grace. It had been years since he’d assumed this diminutive form and it barely suited him anymore. But it was faster than simply taking a smaller size, and better suited to running through the forest. He just needed to keep it until he outlasted Omukade’s attention span and he could reclaim his true form.

Blood spattered behind him as he dove through the trees at random, and Omukade ripped up the forest as it scythed after him. It was faster than Hanzo, but he was more maneuverable.  When Hanzo felt the heat of the monsters open maw on his back, he darted wildly to one side and Omukade thundered past him and plowed, roaring with rage, into the forest floor.

Just keep it here. Just keep it away from McCree.

Even if it meant Hanzo was on the verge on being eaten alive, alone in his least favorite form and shivering from exhaustion.

Omukade tore its head from the dirt for the second time quite suddenly, and lashed out with a roar, flattening the forest around it i a show of petulant outrage. Hanzo staggered to a stop, paws splayed wide, head hanging low, and stood panting. He had to keep it here, in the mountains, away...

Blood dripped from his matted fur to the leaves below. He shut his eyes for just a moment and came back to consciousness when he crashed belly down in the dirt. His legs wouldn’t hold his weight when he tried to rise, and he lay for the space of a few ragged panting breaths.

Omukade swept its tail out in an arc that swept a half acre of forest clear and left choking smoke and orange flame trailing through the night.

Hanzo knew he needed to take this time to change back to something that could fly, something that could get Omukade’s attention again. But his true form was so badly hurt, and he was so tired. He could howl, call Omukade to him, and it would be better than letting McCree die. Better because it was McCree, not Hanzo, who could kill this thing. Hanzo tried to shove his paws through the dirt and force himself to stand. He let out a breath that whined in his throat, licked the tip of his nose and found it dry.

Omukade was on a blind rampage, but already looking towards the valley, towards McCree. Hanzo just needed to howl once more. Delay it a little longer.

McCree was the one who had to survive this.

Pain burst up from inside his ribs. It was so sudden, and so bewildering, Hanzo jerked and looked around to find its source. Something had attacked him, something had happened because Hanzo was suddenly terrified and panicking and something in him was aching from the inside out.

Hanzo had no memory of climbing to his four aching paws, but he was running. Not trying to slow Omukade down or distract him, just running flat out. Hanzo had learned this form because it could run forever, and it was suited to exploring and scouting the forests around Hanamura. He was making the most of it now. A wild, single-footed pace sent him lunging between trees and away from Omukade. Hanzo put his ears back and dug his claws into roots and dirt, galloping head long until his chest brushed the ground with each bound as he shot back towards Hanamura.

McCree was dying.

How the hell did Genji manage to keep five favoured around at any given time? How did he handle the stress and pain and terror that roared through him any time one of them was hurt, any time even just one of them was in danger? No wonder his brother had been an impulsive wreck.

He left Omukade expressing its petulance, forgot about Lucio's plan, disregarded attempting to use his guardians as a distraction. His entire focus was on the pain, on the terror, on McCree about to die.

Lucio would be with him, a rational part of Hanzo insisted. Lucio would be with McCree and together they could protect each other. Lucio was an expert at surviving, even Hanzo had to give him that.

But it didn't matter, because everything in Hanzo had to find McCree. Had to pick him up and make him safe again. Had to make sure McCree survived this. Nothing else mattered.

Hanzo had a sudden, aching memory of being curled inside McCree's serape, warm and dim and safe with McCree's hand warm on his flank.

Even though there was nothing Hanzo could offer McCree in kind.

Pain seared up inside Hanzo's ribs again. A flash of agony as a spike of chitin drove through skin and hit bone.

Hanzo gave a short, snarling bark as he stretched full length in his run, bounding over the land he'd flown so painstakingly over. He couldn't spare the time to reverse his form, couldn't focus, he was just as fast like this anyway.

It didn't matter how he went he just had to get there. He had to get to McCree.

Although, he could always find another monster hunter.

The thought slipped in, cool and quiet and Hanzo snarled at himself in answer. He'd made a deal with McCree, given him an offer of hospitality. They had managed to navigate some unspoken pact of neutrality and protected each other. He had thrown McCree into a war and dragged him across worlds and forced him to do things he had no wish to...

Hanzo thought of finding McCree in the stuffy darkness of the Opinicon's storage room. Found him because the pain in Hanzo's chest had grown unbearable and he didn't know why. He didn't know where he’d been going, but Hanzo had nosed open the door of the storage room, found McCree frozen, holding a ribbon and a stack of tatty folded fabric. Found McCree crying in perfect silence.

A roar from behind Hanzo made the earth shudder under his paws. Hanzo almost stumbled, losing his footing for a moment, then recovered before he was chucked down over his shoulder. The forest shook around him, and another roar split the air and made the leaves around him shiver. Firelight, orange and ugly rose behind him, too smokey and slow to blaze, It was just a persistent heat that striped the fur on his back where it wasn't shadowed through the tree branches. Omukade was finished with his temper tantrum and was following Hanzo to Hanamura.

McCree had to be alright.

How did Genji handle having so many favoured? Hanzo took one and he was a wreck. He'd never made mistakes like these ones before, never panicked, never dropped everything the way he had for McCree. He'd never panicked fighting anything either, not even Omukade, but he'd panicked when McCree fought him. The closest he'd come to dying and Hanzo had never been so scared of anyone in his life.

Omukade reared up from the forest, and Hanzo could feel the ground tremble beneath him as the monster slammed back down with a roar.

Lucio had been so, so wrong when he thought Hanzo could outpace Omukade.

Hanzo panted in time to his strides, reaching longer, throwing himself forwards up the mountainside towards the crest. Omukade bellowed again, tearing itself through the trees behind Hanzo and gaining.

McCree was hurt, alive and bleeding and terrified and furious and Hanzo was pelting up through the forest and still so far away. Omukade ripped a new pathway of its own, a straight line back to Hanamura. The villagers would be in danger, might be dead, why the hell had Hanzo allowed Lucio to talk him into leaving McCree?

Aside from being well aware that McCree could barely look at Hanzo when he wasn't small enough to kill one handed.  To McCree, Hanzo was just one more monster to kill.

The mountain was leving out at it’s crest as Hanzo charged upwardsthe bowl of the valley was almost visible now. Omukade was a muddy orange light shining from behind, the sound of a forest being leveled as it gained.

Hanzo hesitated for a moment, panting with his tongue out and one paw unconsciously held up, sheltering his bloody side. He could remember, with the clarity of sheer humiliation, the moment outside in the Opinicon when he'd taken his half-size form. Barely thicker than a horse and McCree had drawn away from him in disgust, or distrust. Had a flash of memory of McCree stooping down to pet the skinny, delighted dogs of Flower Station. Hanzo was just one more monster to McCree, but maybe...

Omukade might overtake him though. It was dangerous to be on the ground.

His lands were wrecked after this infestation, Hanzo thought, in the tiny corner of his mind still capable of petty stewardship. He was going to have to regrow so much from nothing after this.

Hanzo tensed, took one more bound, and burst up and out of his silver furred wolf and on and up until he roared into the sky as his true form. He twisted and bloody scales fell from his wounded side, he bared his teeth against the pain, aimed directly at his castle, and shot forward.

Behind him, Omukade crested the top of the mountain with the hideous momentum of a runaway train, shot up into the sky with it’s legs still raking at the air, and tipped forward to crash down at the very spot Hanzo had just fled.

Just in time. Hanzo shook his mane out as he left Omukade below him. He would change again soon. He would go small just as soon as he had McCree close enough to protect. Small enough McCree wouldn't see him as a monster. Small enough that Hanzo could slip back into place around McCree's neck and stay quiet and still where he was warm. Hanzo flew high over the slope of the mountain, streaking in a line to Hanamura castle.

Ahead of him, Hanamura's windows blazed with candlelight. McCree was bloody and exhausted and Hanzo ached with the need to be there.

Omukade had caught up to him, and half tumbled, half ran down the mountainside below Hanzo.

Get another monster hunter, said a cold voice in Hanzo's head, half exasperated. One you can control, someone you won't accidentally grant _favour_ to.

Hanzo remembered Genji when he'd first granted favour. Hanzo had stared down in bewildered disappointment as Genji introduced her, a calm, smiling woman who hadn't been afraid to stare straight back at Hanzo. Genji had been bubbling over in excitement, delighted that he'd made a friend, an ally who was strong enough to keep up with him, help him, someone he could take on adventures. He'd been talking over himself in his excitement to introduce her to Hanzo.

Get rid of it, Hanzo had snarled at his brother. It's beneath you.

Genji had shut his mouth so fast his teeth clicked. He had apologized to his favoured in front of Hanzo, and taken her straight out of the castle the way they'd come in. Hanzo hadn't seen him for over a year after that.

He was over Hanamura village now. The river wound along below him, bright with moonlight, a perfect mirror that reflected his white scales spattered and streaked with blood. Hanzo wanted to throw himself back in the river, sleep for a thousand years and wake up when all this was over and everything had changed and this wasn't his problem anymore. He wanted to shake his brother and tell him he was sorry, tell him he understood a little better now. Wanted to find McCree and bring him back to the dusty, warm town in the red rocks and under the stark blue sky and purple sunsets where everyone adored him, even the dogs. He wanted to curl up around McCree's neck, small enough McCree would let him get close, just a little more, just for a little longer.

Wanted to tear Omukade apart for what he'd done.

He pricked his ears forward when he heard the short, sharp reports of McCree's six shooter. The gun snapped prompt, business-like shots, one after another after another after another, a pause, then again. Hanzo aimed for the noise, the wind tearing through his mane, Omukade a long black and boiling orange train tearing through the town behind him.

Almost at the last moment, Hanzo remembered himself and shank sharply to half his true size, barely large enough to fly McCree and Lucio out. The village was past him now, and Hanzo stooped over the courtyard of the castle and and dove down, raking at the air as if for more speed.

Hanzo felt his mane snap into spikes, his scales edge outwards as he shot inside. His great hall was crawling with little scouts. They were two or three deep on the floors, swarming over the walls, all fighting to get behind the central platform. Candlelight filled the hall, glowing over broken chitin and crumbling ash, over gleaming bones jutting from the wreckage of dead monsters. The air was full of smoke and dust and loud with the clatter of hundreds of legs scrambling over walls and floor and other monsters, and the crack of McCree's six shooter. Hanzo skidded to a stop in the centre of the hall, sending a wave of ash up before him.

"McCree!"

Hanzo's roar caused a dozen or so scouts to fall squealing from the ceiling at once, and they landed with a brief series of crunches all around him. There was a visible and immediate shift in the swirling patterns of the scouts as they moved over the walls and ceiling, some leaving their original path to turn towards him.

McCree's six shooter went silent and then spoke rapid-fire in a burst as McCree burst out from behind the tapestry at the head of the hall. Hanzo gave a short cry of relief and dove forwards, without thinking, towards the bloody monster hunter with a gun in his hand.

Hanzo realized his mistake too late. McCree was surrounded by scouts, had been for too long, was covered in ash and mud and blood and his clothing was ripped and his six shooter was already swinging around towards Hanzo, towards the largest monster in the room.

But McCree was alive, bloody yet whole, and Hanzo would go to his favored even if McCree did shoot him.

"Hanzo!"

McCree hit the hall floor running and bounded through broken chitin towards Hanzo. They met hard, both of them lunging at the other, and Hanzo pushed his muzzle against McCree's chest, still waiting for a shot from McCree's revolver. McCree just wrapped his arm around Hanzo. He dug his left hand into the mane under Hanzo's jaw and held them close together and pressed his face to Hanzo’s forehead and shuddered as he leant against him. For a moment they were both still, both of them bloody and panting with their eyes shut and monsters all around them.

"You came." McCree's voice was hoarse and worn out when he spoke, his forehead to Hanzo's, his words spoken right into the spot where Hanzo's scales had healed a shade paler.

"Hold on," Hanzo snarled. He slipped his muzzle under McCree’s arm, leveling out so he could rear up, pulling McCree out of the slurry of ash and blood and shattered chitin. " _Hold on_ to me."

McCree made a small, broken noise as Hanzo lifted him, clinging to Hanzo's mane, draped half over his muzzle, but he held on. Hanzo lifted up as smoothly as he could and carried McCree up onto the ledge over the calligraphy, at the base of the mural. It was a good vantage point, out of the swarm of the scouts, and it wouldn't be easy for them to climb to. It would give McCree the space he needed, and give Hanzo a chance to curl around him and make sure nothing could hurt him again.

"You're hurt," Hanzo growled as McCree half stepped away, half fell from Hanzo's muzzle. "Where's Lucio?"

McCree was gasping, clutching as his side, his right arm hanging like there was no strength left in it. His hair was matted with dust and blood and there was blood in his mouth when he spoke. He had to prop himself against the wall behind him to stand.

"He had to..." McCree gasped, "Hanamuran villagers weren't here. They're either all dead, or already gone with the rest of Lucio’s team? God I don't know, it happened so fast Hanzo. We found..." McCree paused, eyes shut and he shuddered, curling in a little more forward into himself. "It's a nightmare. Hanzo, I'm sorry..."

"Where's Lucio?" Hanzo didn't mean to, but his voice came out a low roar, his scales clattered together as he edged closer to McCree.

McCree stiffened, his gun jerking up momentarily, though Hanzo didn't know if McCree meant to. He pushed himself back against the wall and looked up at Hanzo. "He ran. He's well out of here, he said someone called him and they needed healing and that his team needed help. Something about the Hanamurans? It’s just me here."

"Then get on," Hanzo snapped. He had to move fast. Had to get McCree out. Away from Omukade. Get somewhere safe. Find Lucio and keep McCree alive no matter what.

McCree didn't move; he was frozen, white faced, his eyes bright and slightly wild, looking at Hanzo's muzzle, looking at Hanzo's teeth as he snarled.

Hanzo remembered he was just another monster. Just something McCree has to remind himself not to kill.

"Please," Hanzo forced his panic down, forced his voice low, tried not to curl up quite so tightly around McCree. He had to show McCree he wasn't a threat, not another monster, Hanzo couldn't take another bullet from that six shooter.

They had to leave before...

Outside below the porch, Omukade roared.

"I thought you ran that thing off?" McCree stood up from the wall, swayed and Hanzo just barely managed not to shove his muzzle against McCree to steady him.

"It's faster than I am," Hanzo replied shortly.

"It's..." McCree stopped, swung to look from the porch door to Hanzo. "You got hurt, before... It caught you?"

Hanzo had his mouth open to tell McCree that wasn't the problem right now when Omukade crested the edge of the porch with a roar. The white hot glare of its open mouth shone into the hall like a solid block in the smoky air. The scouts shrieked and the pattern of their scuttling altered, flowing away from the doors.

"Keep them off me," McCree said, and Hanzo looked back at McCree to find him standing stiff and still, right hand at his side. "Omukade can step right up."

Hanzo ducked down, ears pinned flat. This must have been what McCree had done from Hanzo's back that had killed every scout in the forest below them, that had left blood dripping from his eye. Hanzo hadn't seen it before, had been too busy flying, unfamiliar with having anyone on his back and riding him like a common goddamn animal. He could see now though.

McCree shone the same red as the place he came from, a tiny, bright spot of red in his right eye that burned clear through the smoke and dust and haze. Hanzo shrank down, remembered what McCree had said, and cast around, teeth bared, claws out, looking for a scout who might dare attack McCree now.

But the scouts were all climbing up and away again, retreating from the doors to the porch, over or past where McCree stood motionless, and piling up into the beams of the ceiling.

Omukade poured through the porch doorway. It came in at an angle, its legs flailing wildly in opposite corners as it pushed itself through and clawed itself forward, almost too big to fit. McCree watched it as it came, its mouth open, gleefully piling up on itself, messy in it’s obvious excitement. Its wide, flat face turned up, mandibles reaching towards where Hanzo crouched around McCree.

Hanzo watched as Omukade crammed itself through the door, chitin plates grating over each other, orange bursts of fire flaring as it bunched up and twisted awkwardly in its hurry. It would fill the place when it was all inside, drape down to the sunken walkway by the main doors, pile up onto the platform behind the calligraphy.

Omukade started to clamber upwards, pointed feet scraping for purchase over the floor, the walls, over its own bulk. It was close enough Hanzo could feel the heat of its open mouth on his face, close enough Hanzo couldn't help but arch around McCree, curl around him to make just that much more of a barrier.

Omukade came face to face with McCree now, readying itself to lunge, the white-hot hell of its open maw barely twelve feet away. Hanzo could feel the heat, taste oily smoke on his tongue as he roared straight back, feeling wildly, stupidly defiant, weak and small and desperate as he curled up tighter around McCree.

Hanzo was simply waiting to die when McCree shot Omukade.

"Draw!"

The six shooter spoke in a long series that was impossible to count. He hadn't just been aiming at Omukade after all. The first band of chitin over Omukade's throat shattered.The scouts all over the ceiling, scurrying over the walls, swarming over the overviews and walkways died the same instant. Each gave a shriek, a jerk, and then fell, plummeting down to land with a thick, wet crunch in the ash and crumbling chitin.

But Hanzo watched Omukade, still curled around McCree.

Chitin cracked in a widening spiderweb from the single, perfect bright white bullet hole. The cracks spread, widening and turning muddy orange, then to yellow as the black bulged outwards, somehow swelling from within. Yellow fire spread wide between the shattered pieces and turned white, and still the wound swelled out and up and into a bulge that grew and spread until it forced Omukade's head back, mouth pushed shut. Finally the swelling seemed to slow, and stop.

For one perfect moment, Omukade held perfectly still with its head thrown back, mouth clenched shut, its throat a shuddering mass of jagged shards bound by magma. Then it broke, in a blaze of fire and smoke and a shattering crash that knocked McCree back a step. Omukade's throat burst open and left a dark, smoking hole. The monster began to emit a rising, whistling shriek.

Things began dropping out of the yawning, smokey dark hole where its throat had been. Small, charred, crumpled things that fell in sticky clumps to the floor.

Hanzo blindly lowered his head against McCree’s shoulder, staring at the smoking hole his favoured had blasted into this monster. How the hell had Hanzo survived McCree in their fight?

Suddenly, Omukade could move again. Its whistling shriek rose until it was screaming. It threw its head forward to close the wound in its throat and thrashed back and away from McCree, raking at the floor. Dead scouts were still dropping from the ceiling, bouncing off its back and the floor below. Omukade ignored them. Its feet skid through the slurry of broken chitin and ash and dead things as it flailed, trying to force itself backwards, out the way it had come.

Oh, Hanzo thought, his mouth still open, watching the Centipede King desperately fight to escape from McCree. It can die. And it knows that. It can feel fear.

McCree dropped to his knees. That shook Hanzo out of his daze sufficiently that he dove to catch him before he fell from the roof entirely. McCree didn't fall though, he just panted for breath, his right eye dripping blood as he stared down past Hanzo down to the floor. He wasn't watching Omukade’s flailing, desperate retreat, didn't seem to hear it screaming.

"You broke it open," Hanzo said, partly in wonder, and partly because he hadn't realized how much he wanted to discuss the terrible things that happened to Omukade until just this exact moment. "You can kill it."

McCree didn't speak; he was still gasping, eyes open and staring sightlessly down at the grisly piles spread over Hanzo's ancestral hardwood. Blood dripped from his right eye, tracing a fast line down his cheek.

Some of the candlemonsters had survived McCree: not all of the screaming was Omukade. Some scouts had been out of sight around a corner, or below the level of the hall floor inside the sunken walkway, and they were shrieking shrill little whistling wails of their own.

"No," McCree said softly.

Hanzo looked around from the delicious image of Omukade in panicked retreat. McCree was staring down at something on the hall floor.

"No," McCree said again, his voice small, confused. "That's wrong. That's... She was... She left me the ribbon..."

"McCree," Hanzo growled. He nudged him, his muzzle at a height to McCree's shoulder. "You hurt it. We can kill it."

Hanzo could probably break the chitin, now that it was cracked. He could tear Omukade apart if McCree could get another few of those shot into it. Between the two of them, they could tear Omukade apart and scatter the pieces and burn anything that was left.

McCree didn't respond. He dropped down and landed knee deep in the ash on the hall floor. Hanzo snarled in anticipation, watching Omukade twist its head to fit backwards out the door, raking the wood up into splinters, still uttering its strange, whistling scream. Almost like steam escaping, almost like the train he'd heard this afternoon on the plains.

"McCree!" Hanzo's mane was bristling with spikes, his scales edge out and he dropped down to coil around McCree, crouched and ready to bound after Omukade.

But McCree didn't look up. He just dropped to his knees and raked through the crumpled things that has fallen from Omukade, until he dragged one small, charred body out of the wreckage.

"She left me that ribbon," McCree said quietly.

Something ached like ice spreading inside Hanzo's ribs.

The last of the scouts were moving in twitching, broken patterns. Some fell on their backs, with their legs curled tightly to their bellies. Some staggered around, backs arched in a taught, unnatural shape. They trailed in fits and starts towards the balcony doors.

Outside, Omukade gave a wail that whistled so high it became inaudible. Hanzo pinned his ears flat and looked around in time to see Omukade’s desperate scrabbling tear away an entire section of the balcony as it fell.

The noise of Omukade smashing its way through the balcony, the support pillars and the edges of the castles foundation on its fall down the cliff to the forest below rang on and on. A thorough, rolling, cacophony that Hanzo stared after in rising disbelief. Omukade came to a rest at the bottom of a hundred and fifty foot fall with a giant hole in its throat and about half the castle’s balcony on top of it. This could be the best thing that had happened to Hanzo in years.

"McCree," Hanzo snarled, his mane was prickled out in spikes, his scales tipped outwards. He was clinging to the idea that he needed McCree for this, that the upcoming violence of Omukade’s destruction needed his favoured.

McCree didn't move. The charred and crumpled thing he had pulled out of the pile of other indeterminate charred and crumpled things had been human, once. It had been tiny when it was alive. McCree pulled it onto his lap, and Hanzo saw the body of a girl with gawky, skinny limbs crushed to her body, a neckerchief wrapped around her neck. Her eyes were squeezed shut, jaw clenched, head tipped to one side as through she'd died sheltering from something. The cheek that wasn't pressed to her knees was charred black, and cracked by fire.

McCree was shaking, holding the body with both arms and his head bowed low.

The ice inside Hanzo's ribs was spreading. He dug his claws into the chitin and ash, bared his teeth, and thought of Omukade lying broken below him, as weak and vulnerable as Hanzo had ever known him.

“McCree!” The name came out on a breath that burned the back of Hanzo’s throat. Omukade was hurt so badly. This was all Hanzo needed. Hanzo could end this, right now.

Away below in the forest, the long, whistling shriek began to rise, broke in a series of quick little coughs, and then it became a full throated roar that shook the castle. Fire, real fire, bloomed bright and hot between the trees.

McCree didn’t move.

Hanzo didn't wait. He lost patience and lost his caution and ignored the ice in his heart as he shook himself once and exploded up and out into his true size. He left McCree behind as he soared through the doors to the balcony and twisted to dive down after Omukade, teeth bared.

The forest below Hanamura castle was in flames.

Hanzo's eyes went wide as he stared, outrage and shock serving to force him on faster. Omukade lay apparently where he had fallen, crumpled over and around himself, belly up, torn throat a smoky darkness covered in broken timbers. The orange fire that bulged and burned between the plates was a weak, sullen glow. Omukade seemed to tense, its legs curling in on over its belly, then it gave that same coughing cry that became a roar, and thick, ropy orange fire burst from its mouth.

Trees close to Omukade's mouth were blasted flat and cracked open. Fire leapt up and around Omukade, catching in the shattered remains of the balcony. Hanzo was diving down into the smoke rising from the spreading fire when he saw one orange thread of fire cross the shattered hole in Omukade’s throat. The orange fire on both sides of the wound burned a little brighter.

"No!" Hanzo was flying faster than he could fall, in his true form at his true size when he threw himself against Omukade. He disregarded the burning forest and the twitching legs and the wide open jaws of the monster. Hanzo slammed into Omukade and buried his jaws in the smoking black cavity McCree had shot out if its shell. Hanzo's teeth squeaked and scraped over chitin, and he began to bite down hard.

Chitin, thicker than Hanzo could have believed, crunched like ice between his jaws. He raked his foreclaws down, dug into the creature's smoking body to drag out more tiny, crumpled lumps from its insides. He got his horns under the plate of chitin at the monster’s throat and heaved upwards until cracks so heavy and thick they echoed through the burning forest rang out.

Omukade was hurt. It was scared. It could die.

Hanzo could end this, he didn’t need McCree...

Omukade drove its legs into Hanzo's sides. Hanzo made a small, surprised noise, and Omukade snapped into motion, rolling over and over itself, wrapping Hanzo up in its coils, driving both of them into the burning forest. Hanzo choked, tried to tear himself up, to get away. Omukade's legs pierced through his scales and he was pinned helplessly to it, dragged into the inferno. He needed McCree to shoot this thing, hurt it, needed to give Hanzo a distraction...

Hanzo crunched on the chitin in his jaws, coughed on smoke and lost count of how many of Omukade’s legs were trying to drive into him. They slammed up against a burning tree so hard it either stunned Omukade or just made it pause. Hanzo seized the moment, twisted, yanked himself up until he was facing the gaping wound McCree had made—and summoned his guardians. They were ready, eager and hungry, and they knew Hanzo needed them now. He felt them rise from his scales, bully Omukade back, break its hold on him, and then Hanzo roared his guardians straight down into the smoking cavity of Omukade’s throat.

He'd never had much luck using his power against Omukade; something made it immune somehow. But here and now, already so badly broken, the guardians burst forwards and Omukade jerked and screamed, then thrashed back and away. Hanzo tore himself free and wrenched the coiled mass of Omukade open from around him. At last he fought up and out of the burning forest, and burst out of the smoke.

He was blind, coughing and gasping and could feel blood dripping down his sides as he fought to fly. The sky was huge and he felt tiny and weak and so _heavy_. Roof tiles under his claws. Hanzo blinked and shook his dazed head and found himself clinging to the edge of the roof, poised over the broken porch, the long fall, Omukade and his fire below him. He panting for fresh air, his scales smoking, his mane singed. Blood ran down the roof and fell off the eaves in a spattering stream, occasionally carrying one of his scales over the edge. Below him, the ocean of Hanamura’s forest burned. Two long lines of fire jutting straight out from Omukade spreading wider and wider. Then as Hanzo watched, furious and heartbroken, Omukade gave another coughing cry that became a roar, and a third line shot through his woods, took, and began to burn.

In the heart of the fire, Omukade raked burning trees and timbers in close with its tail. It flinched and thrashed in panic or pain when it moved, but it began to build a pyre for itself, and the flames crossed the cavity over its throat as Hanzo watched helplessly from the edge of the roof.

There was a short sharp crack. Then another, and Hanzo looked down, his mane rising in a long line of spikes, anticipating a fourth line of fire to trace out into his forest.

Instead he heard McCree swear, and then cry out in pain, and three more cracks.

Not Omukade. The six shooter.

Hanzo had left McCree in the hall with the last of the scouts.

And Omukade had been very badly injured, and it would probably need to eat.

Hanzo looked down off the roof to see Omukade at foot of the castle, on a pyre of burning trees in the middle of a forest fire look up towards Hanzo, and opened its mouth wide. Just below Hanzo on the shattered remains of the balcony, McCree was struggling, dragged along on a mass of scouts to the very edge. Then the scouts moved in a concerted, single effort, and threw McCree out over rising wood smoke and a hundred and fifty foot fall and Omukade’s wide open maw.

Hanzo started for the space of a heartbeat as McCree seemed to hang in mid air amid the smoke. Stared at his favoured, bloody and torn, eyes wide, mouth open in a scream, blood on his right cheek and matted in his beard, his hair lifting as he tipped in mid air, and fell.

Hanzo had _left McCree…_

Roof tiles shattered and broke up in a wave as Hanzo dug his claws deep and pulled himself into a wild, uncoordinated dive off the edge of the roof. He was almost halfway off the roof when he realized he couldn't fly. He had his jaws open wide over McCree's falling body when he remembered he was in his true form. He was biting down when he remembered his favoured was a monster hunter who hated him when he wasn’t small enough to kill with one hand. He had McCree's shoulder between his teeth, McCree's right arm in his mouth when he remembered he had heard only five shots.

Hanzo was scrambling to stop their plummeting entirely off the roof with McCree’s blood warm in his mouth and Omukade crouching in a forest fire below him when McCree pulled the trigger.

The six shooter shot its last bullet directly inside Hanzo's mouth, and then both of them were falling.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading! I hope you enjoyed. I meant for this to be published the same day as chapter 11, but it needed a little more work.  
> Many thanks to Windlion, who helped me edit this. You are the very best.  
> I'm on [Tumblr](http://leoandlancer.tumblr.com)! Please come by if you have a mind to! I'll be putting up a schedule of the next couple of updates there soon. Thank you in advance for your patience.  
> (つ´∀｀)つ


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